Date Blindness
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: Harry thought he was perfectly happy until Hermione decided to set him up on a blind date. Mature adult content eventually.
1. Chapter 1

"No," Harry said. "Absolutely not."

Hermione's face set into resolute solidity that indicated she planned to cling to the idea with the tenacity of a barnacle to ship's wreckage.

"Harry," she said in a tone he recognized as _reasonable_.

"No," he repeated and strove to keep the panic from his voice.

"Honestly," she snapped, "it won't hurt you to at least meet with him. Have a drink and make small talk, and if there is no interest you invent a previous engagement and leave. This is not facing down a Death-Eater at wand point. It's a _date_."

"A _blind _date," Harry replied with a glare. He did not bother to mention he would prefer the Death-Eater/wand scenario. "I don't see why this is so important."

Hermione sighed and her determined expression relented a bit. "I think you do, Harry."

He looked away and bit back an oath. He was not lonely. At least, not very often. He was usually busy with work, and when he wasn't he had Ron and Hermione, George and Angelina, and Teddy. Really, he did not have time for a relationship.

"It's just a date," she repeated. "We're not asking you to marry him."

He rolled his eyes and wondered why he had even bothered to protest. Without a valid, logical argument, he stood no chance against Hermione. "Who is this paragon?"

Hermione nearly puffed up with glee. "A friend of a friend and he sounds lovely. He has a very good job at St Mungo's and is apparently extremely good looking. And wealthy, so he won't be wanting you for your Gringotts account."

"No, just the scar," Harry muttered, but then said more loudly, "Fine! But I choose the location and it's _one _drink."

Hermione beamed.

ooOooOoo

Harry paused and checked his appearance in the window. He flattened his hair a bit and reflexively tugged his fringe over his scar, even though he had taken care of it before leaving the house.

He took a deep breath and pushed through the pub door. The room was dimly lit and he paused to let his eyes adjust. Outside it was a brilliant, sunny day, which probably accounted for the current lack of patrons inside. Only two tables were occupied, one by a group of four, arguing loudly about the effects of substituting certain potion ingredients for whiskey, and the other by a lone man.

The four sat near the front window, shooting rainbow shards of sunlight around the room with every lift of a glass, but the other sat in a shadowed corner, nearly out of sight completely due to a bedraggled palm that blocked most of the booth from view. Even so, he had caught sight of Harry and was looking straight at him. A lone glass of white wine sat on the table before him and a green scarf was looped casually around his neck.

Harry paused at the bar to order a scotch on the rocks and then made his way over to the man, who did not rise when Harry stuck out his hand.

"Hi," Harry said, "I'm Harvey."

Cool fingers gripped Harry's and held tightly for half a moment before releasing. "Draven," he replied.

Harry slipped into the other side of the booth and scanned the man's features, aware that he was being similarly sized up. To Harry's chagrin, the man was lovely, one less reason to cut the date short. His blond hair was slightly wavy, dropping over his forehead to nearly conceal one bright blue eye. His nose was straight and he had lovely cheekbones, although his chin seemed a bit soft and his face more rounded than Harry preferred.

_Don't be shallow_, Harry chastised himself, _he's attractive enough_.

The man lifted his wine and studied Harry over the rim as he took a drink. Harry wondered if he had been found wanting during the man's perusal. He nearly lifted a hand to finger the Glamour Galleon he wore on a chain beneath his shirt. Despite Hermione's insistence upon him dating, he refused to meet someone as himself. There was too much potential for false expectations. For once, Harry wanted to talk to someone as an ordinary man, and be spoken to as if he were no one special.

The Galleon was imbued with subtle magic, invented by George Weasley. It altered the viewer's perceptions and made the wearer look only slightly different. When Harry had looked at himself in the mirror, he had seen brown hair instead of black, blue eyes instead of green, and no scar. His eyes seemed a bit wider-set and his lips fuller. It was strange how such minute changes could make him completely unrecognizable.

"My friends seemed quite keen to get us together," Draven said. "Any idea why?"

Harry smiled. "Yours, too? I think mine have been a couple so long they think that anyone unattached must have some sort of mental illness. They are hoping to fend off my looming insanity by matching me up with…" Harry stopped himself, realizing he had been about to finish with "anyone that breathes" but realized it could easily be taken as an insult. "…with every attractive man they can find."

To his relief, a smile touched the man's mouth. "Are you suggesting I am attractive?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah. You're definitely easy on the eyes." He felt a jolt of surprise when he realized he was actually _flirting_. He could envision Hermione cheering when she demanded a later recap.

The barkeep prevented a rejoinder, if Draven had intended to make one, and Harry took up the glass as soon as the man left. The Scotch was cold, but left a pleasant burn in Harry's chest.

"So, Harvey, where do you work?"

Harry set down the glass. "Um. At the Ministry."

Draven smiled. His fingers toyed with his wine glass, caressing the stem in barely-there movements, as if he hated to keep still but did not want any of his motions to be obvious.

"Half of the wizarding world works at the Ministry. Do you care to be more specific?"

"Auror Department," Harry admitted.

One blond brow lifted.

"And you work at St Mungo's?" Harry asked quickly, lest Draven ask for specifics. "Are you a healer?"

"In training."

"Your speciality?"

"Spell damage." The admission seemed grudging and Draven took a quick sip of wine. Harry's curiosity was piqued. He wondered if there was a personal reason Draven had selected the field, but it was far too intimate a question to ask after a few brief minutes of conversation. "Can we not discuss work?" Draven continued. "I just came from there and I would prefer to discuss something that won't bring to mind the things I need to do tomorrow."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. To not discussing work." He lifted his glass with a feeling of relief and was heartened when Draven's wine glass clinked against his. Draven's head tipped back and his throat worked when he swallowed. Harry's eyes followed the slender line of his neck. Draven wore a white shirt, three buttons of which were open at the collar, exposing the hollow above his sternum. For a heady moment, Harry wondered what it would feel like to press his tongue there.

The wineglass lowered and Harry quickly gulped at his Scotch, shifting his glance away.

"What shall we talk about, then?" Draven asked. "Literature?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Heavens, no."

Draven pursed his lips. "Not a reader?"

Harry sensed he might have lost some points. "I have nothing against books, but I prefer to spend my time outside."

"I can tell by the muscles."

Harry perked up; Draven's tone had definitely been approving. Blue eyes slid over Harry's shoulders and he barely resisted puffing up like a prized rooster. "I like to fly."

"We have that in common, then."

"Quidditch?"

"Falmouth Falcons."

"Puddlemere U," Harry replied with a grin.

"They'll never take the Cup."

"With Fleetwood as Seeker, they definitely will."

"Not if their Keeper can't stand up to the Falcons' Chasers. If they ring enough Quaffles it won't matter if Fleetwood catches the Snitch."

Harry shook his head. "Tate-Clark is getting better. It won't be a slaughter like that match against the Tornadoes."

"The Ignatius twins are slow."

"They are not slow!" Harry protested.

Draven's lips moved in a slow smile and he lifted his glass. "Slow as tortoises," he said and drank the last of his wine.

Something about the gesture sent heat straight to Harry's groin. _One drink_, he had said, and hoped with a jolt of panic that Hermione had not passed on that titbit of information, otherwise Draven might stand up and walk out of his life, and suddenly Harry did not want that to happen.

To his relief, Draven lifted a single finger towards the barkeep, indicating his desire for a refill. Harry let out a breath.

"Tortoises don't fly," he said inanely.

That earned him another smile. "Incredibly slow birds, then."

Harry snorted and took another drink. "They flew a good game against Wimbourne last week."

Draven agreed and the conversation continued through the merits of various teams and the shortcomings of assorted players. Harry ordered a second drink and relaxed, feeling better than he had in a long while. Draven's insights were intelligent and often sardonic and witty.

"Of course, Jamison has the nicest arse in the entire League," Draven added after an amiable disagreement about the Beater's merits.

Harry nearly choked on his Scotch and set the glass down, certain Draven had waited until he swallowed before making that pronouncement. "Debatable. I'm partial to Kenneth Williams', myself."

"His isn't bad. Are you certain it's only his arse, or are you talking about the whole package?"

"I haven't seen his _package_," Harry replied and snickered, earning a snort from Draven, "but I might be partial to blonds." He stared pointedly across the table and hoped he was coming across as flirtatious and not creepy.

Draven smiled. "I must say, this has been more pleasant than expected." Despite his words, Draven reached into his robes and pulled out a small leather pouch. He extracted several coins and placed them on the table.

Disappointed that their time was apparently at an end, Harry grabbed some coins of his own and tossed them haphazardly on the table while trying to dredge up something to say, hoping to arrange another date. One of the coins landed on its edge and rolled off the table.

Draven bent down to retrieve the coin at the same time as Harry. Long, slender fingers snared the circle of metal, but Harry's attention was caught by a different circle, just visible beneath the collar of Draven's shirt.

Harry straightened with a sharp intake of breath. Draven set the coin on the table and cocked a brow at Harry, who gestured vaguely towards Draven's chest with a stab of disappointment.

"You're wearing a Glamour Galleon," Harry said. He had hoped the man was genuine. Who was he really? A reporter? Harry felt it difficult to breathe for a moment; his regret surprised him with its intensity. Had he really been so hopeful after one conversation? How pathetic and lonely was he?

Draven's hand went to his chest and then fell away. "I… I did not want to meet you as myself," he said. "I am… known."

The statement was not what Harry had expected. "Known? As in… famous?" His mind flitted over any number of celebrities, from Quidditch players to Ministry officials. He blanched at the thought of Draven being Kenneth Williams, after all the talk of admiring his arse.

"Infamous, possibly." Draven's fingers went to the stem of the wineglass and tap-tap-tapped it, so lightly that the glass did not move upon the table.

Harry blinked at him. _Infamous_?

"Damn," Harry said softly. "I suppose I should confess before I start coming across as self-righteous." He reached into the collar of his shirt and lifted out his own medallion.

Draven's eyes widened and then he laughed softly. "I don't suppose you are infamous, as well?"

"Not exactly," Harry said. "Take them off together on three?"

Draven sighed and nodded. "For what it's worth, it was nice talking with you, while it lasted."

"Yeah. It was. One. Two. Three."

On three, Harry pulled the chain over his head and dropped it onto the table. Draven did the same and Harry's heart sank somewhere into his midsection where it lodged like a stone.

"Draco Malfoy," he said flatly.

"Potter. Bloody hell."

Malfoy slid to the edge of the booth and half-rose, obviously intending to escape without further discussion. Harry reached out and clamped a hand onto his wrist. Grey eyes—not blue—widened in surprise.

"Wait!"

Malfoy frowned, but he settled back into the seat, impatience stamped clearly on his features. Despite himself, Harry found himself registering the changes in Malfoy's appearance. To his surprise, Malfoy's natural features were more attractive to him than the glamoured Draven's had been.

"Our friends—why would they do this? Why set _us _up?"

"My darling Pansy likely thought it would be an amusing prank. I must have done something to annoy her recently, although I cannot fathom what would warrant this level of ridiculousness."

Harry realized his fingers were still touching Malfoy's wrist, but he did not let go. "Okay, that makes sense on your side, but not mine. My friends actually _like _me and we don't pull pranks on one another. Well, George does, but never Hermione."

Malfoy frowned. His eyes scanned the room, but only two others had entered, a pair of middle-aged wizards that had taken seats at the bar and downed several glasses of ale. They were engaged in discussion and paid no attention to Harry and his agitated companion. "Then why?"

Harry shook his head. "Maybe Hermione didn't know it was you. She only said that you were attractive and worked at St Mungo's." With a jolt, Harry realized both of those things were true. Malfoy had lied about being a healer-in-training. Harry knew he had risen quickly in the ranks of healers at St Mungo's. _Medi-wizard to the pure-bloods _he was called. It was generally said with a sneer, but Harry supposed the aging pure-blooded crowd felt more comfortable with Malfoy than they would have with a Muggleborn healer. Despite the war's ending, class distinction had not changed much.

"And Pansy told me you were a devastatingly handsome Ministry official."

Harry's lips quirked. "Well, she only partially lied, then."

"You're no longer a Ministry official?"

Harry gaped. Had Malfoy just implied that he was devastatingly handsome?

Malfoy smirked. "All right, so apparently they only told us enough to create intrigue. How is it possible they even speak with one another?"

Harry tried to shake off his amazement, conscious of his fingers still touching Malfoy's wrist. Heat seemed to burn through the cloth that separated skin from skin. "Hermione works for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Of course she does. And Pansy is a snoop. Bloody hell, she probably works for Granger."

"Pansy is what?"

"A snoop. She digs things up, mostly dirty little secrets. Gossip, love letters, clandestine meetings with married persons. A snoop."

"Oh. Like a private detective, then."

"A private what?"

"It's a Muggle thing. So it's quite possible they work together on occasion. That's… a disturbing thought. How do you suppose they expected this meeting to turn out?"

"Pansy probably expected us to hex one another and end up in the _Daily Prophet_." Malfoy glanced around the room again. "Someone here is probably taking photographs for her."

Harry's fingers twitched reflexively, but still he did not withdraw his hand. "If Hermione has made peace with Pansy Parkinson, then she is probably hoping I'll do the same with you."

"Or maybe she just wants you to get laid," Malfoy suggested.

Harry blushed and looked away, knowing Malfoy could be right. "Not much chance of that happening," he muttered.

Malfoy pulled his arm away, leaving Harry's fingers cold and empty on the table top. "No, I suppose not," he said in a cool tone that had not been present before. "It has been an interesting meeting, Potter. Give my regards to Granger."

"Wait!" Harry said again, although his hand snagged only the edge of Malfoy's sleeve this time.

An annoyed look crossed Malfoy's features. "What, Potter?"

"This can't… You mean, that's it?"

"You are making no sense. Surely you do not plan to prolong this torment? There is utterly no chance of anything happening between us, so I think it is far better to end our association now before it comes to blows or hexes."

"No, wait. Hear me out. I think I figured out Hermione's angle. You've heard rumours about me, right?" Harry tried to keep desperation from colouring his words, but he did not want Malfoy to walk out of his life, not when a world of possibility had suddenly opened up to him.

"There are always rumours about you, Potter. You are still the topic of choice amongst the pseudo-journalists employed by the various rags that pass for news publications."

"You know the rumours I mean," Harry said tightly.

"Ah. The ones suggesting that you are a shirt-lifter? That the Weaselette kicked you out because she caught you snogging one of her brothers? That your photo shoot with the Kenmare Kestrels turned into an after-hours orgy? Those rumours?"

"Yes." Harry glared. "And for the record, I never snogged any of the male Weasleys, nor did I have an orgy with the bloody Kestrels." Ginny had caught him kissing Dean Thomas and the _orgy _had been nothing more than a drunken party, and possibly some enlightening groping, with Oliver Wood and his Chaser boyfriend. Harry had left before things became serious, but not before someone had taken enough notice to run to the press with a salacious story.

"All right. The fact that you are here, however, lends validity to some of the rumours."

"Yes, I prefer blokes."

Malfoy smiled. "All right." He waited with one pale brow lifted.

"The press does not exactly treat you kindly, either."

"Obviously," Malfoy said and settled into his seat again. He tugged his sleeve from Harry's grip and indicated his empty wine glass. "Buy me another if you intend to keep me here all evening."

Harry hesitated for a moment, half-certain that Malfoy meant to make his escape the moment Harry let down his guard, but he got up anyway and went to the bar for a glass of whatever expensive white wine Malfoy had been drinking.

When he returned, Malfoy was still seated. He accepted the glass and took another drink as Harry sat down. "Does your ridiculous blathering have a point?" Malfoy asked upon setting the glass down.

"I have an idea," Harry said.

"Astounding. Shall we alert the media and let them know about this freak occurrence?"

Harry kicked him under the table. Malfoy winced.

"Now, listen. Obviously, neither of us are willing to give this thing a go like the girls expected—whatever they expected—but that doesn't mean it was a bad idea."

"What are you talking about?"

"It is past time for me to come out, officially, I mean, and get it over with. I'm tired of hiding who I am. You know what sort of shit storm that will generate, and I think you can handle it. If I tried to subject an ordinary person to that sort of scrutiny… Well, do you see what I mean?"

"I hate to admit that I'm beginning to understand your convoluted non-language."

Harry glared at him and waited. Malfoy flicked his blond hair away from his forehead with a quick swipe of his fingers. It fanned back over his brow in a way that made Harry want to reach out and touch it. He squelched the thought.

"Are you saying you want us to pretend to be a _couple _so that I can deal with the hatred and Howlers and vitriol from your disappointed fanbase?"

"That's not exactly how I would put it—" Harry began.

"What's in it for me?" Malfoy asked. "Besides the fact that dating the mighty Saviour will potentially improve my vilified image? Except the part where people will assume I've put you under the Imperius Curse, or drugged you, or invented some dark spell with which to enthral you."

"What do you want?" Harry asked, knowing Malfoy was right. A spear of doubt pierced his momentary hope.

Malfoy seemed to consider the question, and he took a long sip of wine while Harry waited. He resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the table, and instead plucked at the seam of his jeans where it bunched near his kneecap.

"I will let you know," Malfoy said finally. "We pretend to date, pose as a happy, albeit deranged, couple, have our photos plastered in the papers, deal with the hate mail, and then stage a spectacular breakup. Is that what you had in mind?"

"Um… basically, yes," Harry said.

"Very well. I'm in. We will discuss my price later."

"Will I be able to afford this price?" Harry asked, slightly panicked.

Malfoy smirked. "We will see, won't we?" He lifted his glass. "To our new partnership."

Harry lifted his glass of mostly melted ice and alcohol residue. He allowed Malfoy to clink the glasses together. "To our partnership," Harry said and drank, feeling as if he had just made a deal with some terrible god of the underworld.

"I will send you an owl," Malfoy said and got to his feet. This time, Harry let him leave.

ooOooOoo

Harry stumbled out of the Floo and into Ron and Hermione's living room. Hermione looked up from the book she was reading and Ron allowed the scroll in his hands to roll up with a snap.

"Oi, Harry," Ron said.

Harry nodded to Ron as he brushed stray Floo powder from his sleeve. He fixed his stare on Hermione. "Do you mind telling me what you were thinking?"

She blushed as she marked the place in her book with a silk ribbon and set it aside. "Oh dear. It went badly, then?"

"How, exactly, did you expect it to go? _Draco Malfoy_? I can't believe you conspired with Pansy Parkinson, of all people—"

"I'm sorry, Harry, it just seemed like a sensible idea. Not at first, of course. Pansy suggested it as a laugh. But the more we talked about it—"

Ron broke in. "Malfoy? Wait, you've been talking to Pansy Parkinson?"

Hermione frowned at him. "Yes, Ron, I've only mentioned her about six dozen times."

"I didn't know you meant _Parkinson_! I thought she was a different Pansy. Pansy Johnson or Pansy Rodriguez or something, not that evil bint from Slytherin."

"So," Harry said, trying to circumvent Ron's tangent, "you thought it would be a sensible idea. Because of the publicity, right?"

"We're adults now, Ron. We don't discuss the past in order to concentrate on the future. What do you mean by publicity?"

Ron snorted. "Yeah, probably not a good idea to bring up how she tried to sell Harry to You-Know-Who."

"Pansy is loyal to her friends, and I can respect that. She is also an utterly ruthless fact-finder and I've come to—"

"_Anyway_," Harry said loudly, "it looks like Malfoy and I are dating."

Two pairs of eyes swivelled to him, Hermione's surprised and Ron's horrified. Hermione smiled broadly as Ron spluttered. She cried, "Oh, Harry, that's wonderful! I thought you said it went badly. How did you—?"

"_Dating_?" Ron shouted.

"Calm down, Ron."

"'Calm down,' she says! Have you both completely lost the plot? What are you thinking?"

Harry shrugged. "Malfoy and I came to a mutual agreement. It's more of a business arrangement, if you like."

Ron sagged back into the cushions, seeming somewhat mollified by Harry's words.

Hermione frowned. "A business arrangement?"

Harry nodded. An owl tapped on the window, unfamiliar and impressive. Hermione flipped the latch and allowed it inside.

"It's for you, Harry," she said and handed him the message.

The note was simple, written in an elegant script and silver ink. Harry tipped it to catch the light.

_Meet me at 8 p.m. at the Hearty Trencher. Do not dress like a refugee._

_-D_

"I have a date with Malfoy. Tonight. Oh god, what will I wear?"

Ron pulled a pillow over his face to muffle the choking sounds.

ooOooOoo

Harry stood awkwardly on the cobblestones outside the Hearty Trencher. His Tempus Charm—the sixth in as many minutes—announced ten past the hour. Anxiety twisted his insides, warring with growing anger. Malfoy had been having him on, after all. He was probably at home, chuckling at the thought of Harry waiting for him outside the restaurant, all dressed up and—

A crack of Apparition sounded and Harry's breath caught at the sight of Malfoy, not only from relief at not having been jilted, but also because the man looked bloody amazing.

Grey eyes swept over Harry critically. Harry refrained, barely, from fidgeting at the perusal. He thought he looked good; Hermione had helped him choose a new set of midnight-blue robes from Madam Malkin's.

To his surprise, a smile curved Malfoy's lips. "Very nice, Potter."

The simple compliment brought a pleasant heat to Harry's face. "You look… good," he admitted. He wasn't lying. Malfoy looked nigh-unto edible in calf-length robes of blue so pale they were nearly silver. His trousers were the same shade. The colours they both had chosen were oddly complimentary.

Malfoy's smile remained in place and his gaze softened into something that brought a flutter to Harry's chest. _Business arrangement_, he admonished himself. _Mustn't forget_.

"Shall we go inside?" Malfoy asked.

Harry nodded and pulled open the door, stepping aside to allow Malfoy to enter first. He paused inside the doorway while Malfoy spoke to the maître d', who instantly snatched up two menus and beckoned them onwards. Despite the rustic-sounding name of the place, it was quite posh, adorned with crisp white tablecloths, gleaming crystal, and sparkling silverware.

"The table you requested, Mr Malfoy," the man said, halting before a small booth table. High mahogany walls enclosed the space on three sides, but they would still be plainly visible to most of the dining area.

Harry swallowed whilst Malfoy cocked a brow at him. It was time to put up or shut up. Harry sat down. The bench seat was warm, covered in soft fabric. A waiter popped up immediately and filled two glasses of water with a flourish of his wand.

"May I offer you a cocktail, gentlemen?"

Harry nearly asked for a Firewhisky, but Malfoy smoothly ordered a bottle of some incomprehensible French wine and then asked, "You do drink wine, do you not, Harry?"

Nearly flabbergasted at the casual way his given name tripped from Malfoy's tongue, Harry could only nod, even though he was not a particular fan of wine. It seemed bitter and, frankly, pretentious. Sort of like Malfoy.

"Very good, sirs. I will return in a moment."

The waiter sashayed away and Malfoy smirked at Harry. "How long do you suppose it will take the _Prophet _to send out a photographer?" he murmured.

"There is probably one waiting outside for us right now," Harry replied and gulped his water. It was tepid.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Malfoy asked. Was there a challenge in his voice?

Harry lifted his chin. "I can if you can," he said.

Malfoy smiled. The sommelier appeared and uncorked the bottle with what Harry considered to be an excess of ceremony. He watched with amusement as Malfoy swirled the wine in the glass and took an experimental drink.

To Harry's relief, and likely the wine steward's, Malfoy nodded and Harry's glass was filled. Harry took a sip and found it bitter, as expected, but more palatable than the water. He set the glass aside and turned his attention to the menu.

Everything was written in French, but thankfully with English explanations beneath. Harry wrinkled his nose at the thought of eating snails, but the asparagus with Hollandaise sauce sounded rather good.

"For starters, I think we should have the _Boudin Noir at Oeuf Poche' Bordelaise_," Malfoy said. "And the gazpacho. I assume you will not eat _Escargots a' la Bouguignonne_?"

Harry stared at him for a moment, heart thudding at the sound of the mellifluous language flowing so easily from Malfoy's tongue. "You speak French?" Harry asked.

"Fluently," Malfoy replied. "And several other useless languages, including Danish and Estonian. Mother insisted."

"Wow. That's… impressive. Um… how do you say this thing? And no to the snails, please." Harry turned the menu around and tapped a finger on part of the menu.

"_Medaillons de Sanglier au Poivre Vert_," Malfoy said.

"And that thing under it? In the English bit?" Harry tried to sound casual, as if Malfoy speaking French was not an unexpected turn-on. How could he have foreseen that?

"_Gratin Dauphinoise_," Malfoy replied. "That is a potato dish. You'll love it."

"Why can't they just say potatoes?" Harry muttered and took back the menu. Wild boar did seem tasty, especially if it came with potatoes. "What are you having?"

Malfoy rattled off another beautiful-sounding phrase and Harry smiled dreamily as he stared at the incomprehensible words of the menu. He entertained a small daydream of hearing Malfoy murmuring French phrases in bed, but the resulting rush of blood to his groin startled him out of that pastime with a jolt. He gulped at his wine in an attempt to cover his sudden blush.

"Pauillac Bordeaux is not to be guzzled, Harry. Would you prefer ale?"

Harry coughed at the alcohol residue that seemed to have eaten up his oxygen. He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Sorry." He waved airily. "Do you mind ordering for us?"

Malfoy frowned, but the waiter had popped up with an expectant expression. Harry listened happily whilst Malfoy rattled off their order and even asked a few questions of the waiter, who replied in a spate of French that did not sound half as lovely as Malfoy's.

When the waiter departed, Malfoy took a drink of wine and then said, "So, tell me about the Kenmare Kestrels."

Harry glared. "Oliver Wood is clingy when drunk. End of story."

"I very much doubt that is the end of the story, but I am curious about the beginning."

Harry rubbed at the edge of his silver knife with his thumb, not looking at Malfoy. "It was just a photo shoot. For charity."

"I saw."

Something in Malfoy's tone made Harry look at him sharply. Malfoy's eyes looked like dark pools in the muted light, but a small smile played about his lips. The tense knot in Harry's midsection relaxed. He admitted to himself that his memories of the incident provoked a knee-jerk defensive reaction that he could not seem to control. Despite trying to ignore everything the press printed about him, it still affected him. "You saw?" he repeated.

Malfoy nodded. "That issue of _Quidditch Quarterly _sold out on the first day, did it not?"

"Yes, but—"

"I bought three copies."

"You what?"

Malfoy seemed fascinated with his wine glass. His index finger rubbed at the base, as if scrubbing at an imagined imperfection. "One for myself, one for Pansy, and one just so that some other poor soul starved for the need to look upon the fabled Harry Potter could not do so."

Harry's lips twitched. "That wasn't very nice."

"I am not a nice man."

His eyes met Harry's and the statement sent another pulse shooting towards Harry's nether parts. He nearly snatched at his wine again, but restrained himself. If he kept drinking every time Malfoy disconcerted him, he would be on his lips before dinner.

Instead he said, "That remains to be seen."

Malfoy chuckled. "You surprise me, Potter. I expected you to paint me with a dark brush without bothering to check my true colours."

"_Harry_," he corrected and felt a rush at the fact that he was actually _flirting_, and having a bloody good time with it.

"Harry," Malfoy agreed just as the waiter appeared with their starters.

Conversation was curtailed as they dug into their food. Harry happily bit into the asparagus. The sauce was rich and lemony and a definite treat to his palate. He normally subsisted on fish and chips and takeaway sandwiches.

"What are you having?" Harry asked after swallowing a mouthful.

"Scallops. Would you like to try one?"

Harry nodded, although he could not recall ever tasting scallops. Malfoy sliced off a morsel and speared it with his fork before leaning across the table and offering it. Harry had expected him to drop a bit of it onto his plate. Albeit startled, he leaned forwards and opened his mouth.

The metal tines slid out and left the rich seafood behind. Harry closed his eyes and chewed. He immediately decided scallops were one of his favourite foods. His eyes opened and he saw Malfoy staring at him with wide eyes.

"It's, um… really good," Harry said.

Malfoy muttered something and Harry thought it sounded like, "Remind me not to do that again" but he decided not to ask for clarification. He contented himself with his vegetables until the second course arrived.

The boar was succulent and the potatoes were amazing. Harry tried not to watch Malfoy eat, because it was nearly as enticing as listening to him speak French. His movements were precise and graceful and he wielded his utensils with obviously-practiced skill.

"How did those rumours start, exactly?" Malfoy asked after they had eaten in silence for some time.

Harry swallowed a bite of potato and then took a drink of water before replying. "Which rumours?"

"The Kestrel orgy rumours, of course."

"You're still going on about that?"

"I'm merely curious."

"Right," Harry said. "Whatever. Fine. As I said, Oliver is clingy. He was hanging all over me during the party, to the bizarre amusement of his boyfriend, who kept egging him on. I think he was hoping for a threesome."

Malfoy's fork paused halfway to his mouth and then lowered back to his plate. "A threesome with Oliver Wood and his Kestrel Chaser boyfriend? How did you resist?"

Harry gaped at him. "Are you suggesting I should have—?"

"Potter, life is short! How often is one presented with such an opportunity?" Malfoy clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Honestly, I will never understand the Gryffindor mentality."

For a moment, Harry's imagination helpfully provided an image of Malfoy writhing on a large bed with Oliver Wood and the handsome Chaser. The resulting tightness in his trousers left him somewhat lightheaded. "Are you saying you would have…?"

"Faster than you can say _Nox_," Malfoy said and then laughed. "Why didn't you?"

Harry goggled at him and tried to ignore the flash of green-tinted annoyance that Oliver would probably jump at the chance to bed Draco Malfoy, if only he knew it was an option. He considered the question, instead. Why hadn't he?

"Well, the press, for one thing," Harry replied finally.

Malfoy sat back in his seat, reminding Harry of Professor Flitwick whenever Harry had given an incorrect answer during their Hogwarts' days. "The press? You worry a lot about what the press has to say, don't you?"

Harry spluttered. He did not! He was about to give voice to his denial when he realized it would make him out to be a liar. In truth, he hadn't thought much about the press at all during the Oliver Wood situation. Mostly he had felt uncomfortable. Oliver was quite attractive, but he had been in a relationship. Whether or not his significant other was delighted at the prospect, Harry knew it would be nothing more than a one-off.

"I'm not much of a player," he admitted. "I don't want…" he waved a hand, "that sort of thing."

"Sex?" Malfoy asked.

Harry's face flamed and he glanced into the room to see if anyone had overheard their conversation. "Of course I want sex," he hissed. "Just not meaningless, casual, drunken, group sex, all right?"

Malfoy nodded and pushed at a green bean on his plate, sliding it to the edge. Harry noted that he did not seem to like them. "You want a _relationship_."

"Is there something wrong with that?" Harry asked, defensive.

To his surprise, Malfoy met his gaze levelly and shook his head with a soft smile. "No, Harry. There is nothing wrong with that."

Malfoy put another bite of lamb into his mouth and Harry, nonplussed, returned to his own meal, although he hardly tasted the remainder of it. The strange date was turning out to be more complicated than he had expected.

And Malfoy was turning out to be more than he had bargained for.

ooOooOoo

The waiter was reciting the dessert menu when Malfoy stiffened and touched his right arm. Harry spent a horrifying moment thinking of Malfoy's Dark Mark, but then he noticed a pale blue glow emanating from Malfoy's sleeve. Malfoy tugged the fabric back to reveal a plain silver bracelet pulsing with a blue radiance.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "Hospital alarm. I have to go."

"Emergency?"

"Minor, but yes. I am sorry to cut this short. If you want to stay for dessert, I will take care of the check."

"No!" Harry said quickly. "I'm finished and I can pay. It's fine. You just go."

"All right." Malfoy got to his feet and the waiter stepped aside, obviously confused by the turn of events and probably wondering if he should continue his spiel. "No dessert tonight, Carlos, thank you. Give my regards to the chef."

Carlos bowed and sidled away, looking as if he would rather stay and hear their conversation. Harry stood and gave Malfoy a smile. "I had a really good time."

"As did I," Malfoy said. "Shall I…?"

"I'll owl you tomorrow," Harry said decisively.

Malfoy nodded and turned to go, but Harry impulsively snared his sleeve. Malfoy raised a brow and paused. Before he could stop himself, Harry leaned forwards and pressed a quick peck onto Malfoy's cheek. He was not sure if he imagined the cessation of conversation in the rest of the room; his heart was pounding too loudly to be certain.

"Good show, Potter," Malfoy murmured, and then he turned and was gone.

ooOooOoo

Harry went straight to his room and unbuttoned the unfamiliar robes. He realized he still wore a somewhat goofy smile on his face and strove to wipe it away, but he could not help but feel bemused. Malfoy had been surprisingly good company.

He stripped off his robes and hung them up before making his way to the shower. As the soap sluiced over his chest and slid in warm suds down to his groin, he could not help thinking of Malfoy's long fingers. The way they had stroked the stem of his wine glass gave Harry incentive to picture them wrapped around his cock.

Harry groaned as he gave in to the fantasy, utilizing his own fingers in place of Malfoy's. "This is a bad idea," he murmured into the spray. His hand pumped rhythmically. "It's just a…" he gasped, "business arrangement."

_"Sex?" Malfoy had asked._Taken out of context, it seemed like a request. The memory sent Harry over the edge, riding a surge of lust he could not remember feeling in a long while. One hand splayed against the cool tiles as he rode out the quivers and reflected wryly that he hadn't come so quickly since surreptitiously wanking at Hogwarts, hoping to Merlin none of his dorm-mates had heard him through whispered Silencing Charms.

"A business arrangement," Harry said decisively and steadied himself. He scrubbed away the remnants of his activity and finished his shower before drying off and going to bed. It was early, but Harry had been through an eventful day.

ooOooOoo

Ron peered into the cauldron and tapped his wand on the edge. _Tap. Tap tap._  
Harry frowned at him. "That's not doing anything. Shouldn't you stir it? Or add those diced Nargle bits?"

_Tap tap tap. Tap._

"Nargles aren't real," Hermione commented. She was brushing her hair instead of working on a potion or reading a book. It was odd, because they were in the Potions classroom. Ron's incessant cauldron whacking was getting on Harry's nerves. _Tap tap tap tap._

"Damn it, Ron—" Harry started, but an arm wrapped around Harry's waist from behind and soft lips pressed against his neck. Harry leaned back into the hard warmth with a pleased sigh.

"Want to show me what Oliver Wood missed out on, Harry?" Malfoy asked in a purring tone. His voice vibrated against Harry's throat and travelled straight to his cock. A moment later, Malfoy's hand cupped him there.

_Hermione is watching!_ Harry thought with panic, but she simply continued to brush her hair. Ron kept banging on the cauldron without pause. _Tap tap tap tap! Tap tap!_

Harry jolted awake, heart thudding in his chest. He struggled free of his constricting blankets, breathing heavily. Bloody hell, it had been a dream! He pressed the heel of his hand against his half-hard cock, clinging to the shade of Malfoy's hand touching him there. Despite Harry's effort to hold onto it, the image dissipated and drifted away into dream-memory.

The tapping, however, did not relent.

Harry's head turned to face the window and his jaw fell open. A cluster of owls sat upon the sill. One of them insistently pecked at the glass. _Tap. Tap tap tap_.

Harry pushed away the rest of the blankets and got to his feet. He was almost afraid to open the window and let them in; even more owls were visible beyond those perched on the sill. Some fluttered in the sky and others were sat on nearby rooftops.

_Tap tap tap_. His attention returned to the insistent owl and he felt a jolt when he recognized it as Malfoy's. Harry pushed open the latch and swung the window wide, jumping back as the owls launched towards him. Within moments they were all in Harry's room, claws digging into every available surface.

He sighed and got to work removing the messages. Several of the missives were bright red Howlers—Harry left off taking those. Once touched by his hand, they would detonate within minutes.

"No reply," he said to each owl as he retrieved their notes. Most hopped away and took wing, departing through the now-open window. Several nipped at him, one scratched his hand viciously, and one settled itself on his dressing table and refused to leave, glaring at him balefully when he tried to shoo it away.

Malfoy's owl perched on Harry's headboard, just above where Harry's head had rested on the pillow minutes before. Harry saved that message for last. The others he collected and stacked into a pile on his desk. A cursory glance at several had shown them to contain the same general theme.

_"…could not believe my eyes when I woke up this morning…"_

_"…read in the Daily Prophet that you are gay…"_

_"…had to be a filthy lie, as you cannot be a disgusting shirt-lifter…"_

_"…overjoyed that you, Harry Potter, might be like me…"_

_"…in the company of Draco Malfoy, spawn of that vile family of…"_

_"…known Death Eater, not fit to lick your boots and…"_

_"…please tell me it's not true and you would never…"_

_"…please tell me it's true so that one day I might also be brave enough…"_

_"…I hope you burn in Fiendfyre…"_

_"…I wish you every happiness…"_

The Howlers Harry tossed into a Muggle safe made of reinforced steel that he had purchased for just such a purpose. He was used to Howlers; this way he did not have to listen to them. Once a month he would dust out the ashes.

With that done, he approached Malfoy's owl. It was large and stately and looked rather vexed at Harry, possibly for making him wait. To err on the side of safety, Harry detoured to the fireplace and took a couple of owl treats from the owl-shaped jar Ginny had purchased for him just before she'd gone to Romania to work with Charlie.

The owl eyed the treats long enough that Harry began to fear it would prefer to eat his fingers, but then it snapped at the biscuits and allowed Harry to remove the message.

_Harry,_

_Lunch? I will be at the Winged Pachyderm at twelve sharp. I only have thirty minutes, so if you care to dine with me, don't be late._

_Draco_

Harry glanced at the clock; it was nearly ten. He scrawled a quick note of affirmation and gave it to Malfoy's owl, who flew out the window without pause. Harry bodily picked up the squatter owl from his dressing table and tossed it out the window. It flapped after Malfoy's owl with a squawk and a flurry of feathers.

Harry shut the window and dusted his hands. A smile played about his lips as he dressed for work. He had another date with Draco Malfoy.

_Business arrangement_, a voice whispered in his head. Harry nodded. Of course it was.

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was late.

A routine questioning session in Wales had turned into a wild chase when the man being questioned had begun lobbing curses and then Disapparated. Four cities, a bruised hip, and three broken fingernails later, Harry had captured the man and Side-Alonged him back to the Ministry. The paperwork, of course, had taken longer than the chase.

Harry had been about to leave for lunch when he realized he had no idea where the Winged Pachyderm was located. By the time he found someone with directions, it was 12:17.

He rushed into the place—surprised to find it was a simple street-front café with tiny metal tables—hoping to find Malfoy still there. To his relief, Malfoy sat alone at a corner table, nearly invisible behind a copy of the Quibbler. Harry had almost turned around and left before he caught a glimpse of white-blond hair.

"Sorry I'm late! Merlin, it's been a morning," Harry said.

Malfoy lowered the paper. They stared at one another for long heartbeats and then Malfoy's lips curved in a slow smile. "Glad you could make it, Harry. I have to leave soon, but I recommend the kofta."

Harry dropped into a small metal chair. Relief warred with disappointment. He was relieved that Malfoy wasn't angry at him, but disappointed that he had missed even a few minutes of his company.

"Have dinner with me tonight?" he blurted. "At my place?"

Malfoy's brows disappeared into his hair. After several heartbeats, Harry became aware that the entire place had gone silent. He had not been aware of anyone but Malfoy; now he realized the place was filled nearly to capacity and that they were the centre of attention. Malfoy's cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink.

"Please," Harry added, suddenly afraid Malfoy would refuse.

"Of course, Harry. I will bring the wine."

Harry smiled at him, possibly looking besotted, or perhaps a bit mad. Malfoy carefully folded his paper and got to his feet. Harry stood with a loud scraping of chair legs. Malfoy winced.

"I have to go, Harry. Enjoy your lunch."

Harry nodded. Malfoy made to walk past, but Harry reached out impulsively and stopped his progress. Malfoy gave him a cool look that did nothing to calm the rush of heat that prickled over Harry's skin; if anything, it added _Incendio _to the mix.

"See you tonight," Harry said and touched his lips to Malfoy's.

It was barely a kiss. A child would have bussed his mother with more enthusiasm, and yet it still pulled the wind from Harry's lungs.

_I kissed Draco Malfoy_, he thought in bemusement, drowning in grey as eyes met eyes, and then Malfoy was gone in a swirl of lime green and Harry was alone in a silent crowd.

ooOooOoo

Harry was barely back at his desk (pleasantly full of kofta, which had been delicious) when a knock sounded at his door. His secretary's head popped through a crack in the door at his call.

"Auror Potter, sir, there is a woman—"

The door banged open and a dark-haired woman shoved past the startled secretary and strode into Harry's office.

"That will be all, Megan," said Pansy Parkinson as she loosened the cloak-clasp at her throat and dropped into the chair facing Harry.

"It's _Marjorie_," Harry's secretary corrected sternly. She was an elderly witch, kindly and protective, who baked Harry biscuits on the weekends and fixed his tie prior to important meetings, "and Mr Potter is not to be disturbed without an appointment." She lifted her wand.

Harry coughed when Parkinson stared at him. "It's fine, Marjorie! I'll take this one."

Marjorie gave Parkinson a stern glare and the wand quivered, as if she considered letting a hex fly and calling it an accident, but then she nodded and grasped the doorknob. "I will be just out here, Auror Potter, should you need anything."

"Thank you, Marjorie."

Parkinson sniffed. "Annoying woman. Are you completely fucking stupid, Potter?"

Harry frowned at her. "Marjorie is perfectly competent and—"

"Not her, you twit! Draco!"

"Um… I'm afraid I don't—"

"Thanks to your idiotic display today, everyone assumes you are under the influence of Amortentia. You're lucky Draco hasn't come here and hexed your balls off."

"Um…" Unfortunately, the thought of _Draco_ and _balls _in the same sentence led Harry's thoughts down an entirely different path, and it was a moment before he realized Parkinson was watching him with an expression that would not have looked out of place on a venomous serpent.

"Amortentia?" he repeated helpfully, hoping to avoid whatever hex she was contemplating. He was an Auror, after all, and it would look bad to be hexed whilst in his own office.

"Yes. Potter. Amortentia, a _love potion_. You popped into the café this afternoon behaving like a lovesick buffoon. The gossip network can speak of little else. What were you thinking?"

"What… what was _I_ thinking? You and Hermione set us up! What were _you _thinking?"

She brushed at a bit of lint or something on her impressive bosom. "It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is how you are going to deal with this mess you've created. It's a bloody good thing St Mungo's is warded against Howlers or Draco wouldn't be able to work at all."

Harry frowned. He knew the hospital was warded. St Mungo's had spells that diverted Howlers back to their senders, but such charms were difficult and needed constant renewing. Harry had considered warding his home against them, but he didn't have time for such maintenance.

"What do you suggest I do?"

She sat back with a smile that did nothing to reassure him. "Leave it to me, Potter."

ooOooOoo

"A _press conference_? That's your solution?"

"Would you rather they make things up? Salazar, you haven't anything suitable to wear in here at all. We need to go shopping."

Harry wasn't sure why he had even allowed Parkinson into his flat. He had barely made it home from the office when she had been shouting through his fireplace. Harry was half in a panic, as it was. Draco was… _Malfoy _was due to arrive in three hours. What had he been thinking, inviting him to dinner?

"I've already sent your regrets to Draco. You can't possibly see him tonight," she added. She held up a tattered pair of jeans with two fingers and made a moue of disgust. "What is _this_?"

"You did what?" Harry asked. She Vanished the jeans with a tap of her wand. "Hey! I liked those!"

"It was the best way to squelch the ridiculous love potion rumours. Draco agreed. He plans to work late and then spend some time at Flourish and Blotts purchasing a few tomes prior to having a very public dinner alone at Diamante's. To throw some added confusion to the mix—and also to ward off any too-eager reporters, I've arranged for Granger to pop in and keep him company."

"Hermione?" he asked dumbly. It occurred to him that his entire life had been taken neatly out of his hands the moment his best friend had suggested he go on a blind date. "When did you two become bosom friends?"

"When we started comparing bosoms," Pansy said. "I won."

Harry chose not to think about how that particular conversation would have gone. He supposed he shouldn't have asked.

"Okay, wait, so… Draco's not coming?"

"Not tonight, Potter, unless he brings himself off." She snickered at his wince. "Oh, don't be such a prude. I've arranged for you to meet with a select group of reporters at seven o'clock, which doesn't give us much time."

"_Tonight_?"

She looked at him critically. "I suppose the Auror robes will do. It won't hurt them to remember who you are."

"I can't talk to anyone tonight! What the hell am I supposed to say?"

She pulled a scroll from a pocket—it must have been a magical pocket, considering how tightly her robes hugged her figure—and handed it to him.

"Granger and I wrote you a speech. You have one hour to memorize it whilst I try to do something about your hair." She Conjured a comb.

Harry wondered how long it would take them to find him if he Apparated to the centre of Africa.

ooOooOOoo

Harry tried not to feel resentful as Pansy made one last painful tug at his hair and finally gave up with a sigh. She was only trying to help, he supposed.

"It will have to do," she said. "Now, get out there and _don't stammer_! Remember you killed the Dark Lord. Try to act like that person."

"Oh? You mean the evil wizard you tried to turn me over to during the war?"

"Bygones, Potter. Let them be. Now go." She gave him a not-gentle shove towards the door.

Harry heaved a sigh and went. Thankfully, they had arranged the "press conference" at the former home of a Wizengamot member who had passed away and donated his manor to the Ministry. It was typically used for Ministry functions, but could also be leased for parties or meetings by private parties. The room they had chosen was on the smaller side, and Pansy had arranged for cocktails and finger foods. Harry preferred not to think about how much of a drain the event would be on his Gringott's account. Pansy had no qualms about spending his money. The small collection of reporters and photographers—eight in all, he noticed—seemed relaxed and in good spirits, not at all like the evil leeches Harry typically envisioned.

Ron, Hermione, and Luna were also in attendance, mingling with the reporters. Well, except for Ron, who was encamped at the buffet table talking to Xenophilius Lovegood whilst munching happily on a plate of food. Harry was glad for the familiar faces and supposed Pansy Parkinson was not quite as horrid as she had once been. Although Hermione had been meant to meet Malfoy "unexpectedly" that plan had been scuppered by St Mungo's being inundated with several cases of Lizard Pox. Malfoy had been forced to work late and would have had to cancel Harry's date anyway. Harry was glad of it, since it meant Hermione was here with him for moral support instead of making small talk with Malfoy.

Luna halted Harry's march across the room in Ron's direction and detoured him towards an unfamiliar person. "Hello, Harry. Nice to see you. Have you met Madeline Wyndvane?"

"No," Harry said and awkwardly jutted out a hand before he realized the woman held a champagne glass in one hand and a canapé in the other. "Oh, sorry."

"Hello, Auror Potter. It is good to finally meet the man behind the mystery. I work for _Witch Weekly_."

Luna ushered Harry through the room making introductions and helping Harry to feel less uncomfortable. By the time he was handed off to Hermione, who guided him to the front of the room, he felt almost relaxed.

"See? It's not so bad."

"Yet," he said. None of the reporters had asked him any questions during the introductions, and he had been relieved to see no one from the _Daily Prophet _in attendance. Rita Skeeter's style had been all over the article about the possible Amortentia, even though there had been no moniker attached. She was probably still terrified of Hermione's retribution should she publish another word about Harry under her own name.

Hermione punched him lightly on the arm and then stepped back.

Harry cleared his throat and pretended he was talking to a group of Aurors. For some reason, he was never self-conscious when talking before a crowd at work. "Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. You have been asked here so that I might give a brief statement regarding my personal life. As much as I would like my private life to remain private, I am not naïve enough to believe that will happen any time soon."

There were several chuckles and a muttered sound of agreement. Harry continued. "You probably saw the article in the _Daily Prophet _regarding my relationship with Draco Malfoy." Several quills lifted and every eye was fixed upon Harry. "While it is true that I am seeing Draco, it is most assuredly not true that I am under any sort of spell, hex, or love potion. As shocking as it may seem to some people, I am with him of my own free will and plan to continue to see him on a regular basis."

Quills scribbled furiously.

"Ah... That's pretty much it. Any questions?" He refrained from cringing. This was the part he had dreaded. Hands flew into the air. "Xenophilius?"

"Thank you, Auror Potter. Is it true that one of the lifts at the Ministry of Magic is inhabited by Flimmerwangs?"

The room went silent and everyone stared at Xenophilius, who pursed his lips and nodded in a solemn fashion.

"They are very shy and often go unnoticed, but they leave behind a peach-coloured mist that smells like chamomile. The mist causes bouts of nervous laughter in humans, but it has a soporific effect on vampires, if the studies are correct."

Harry cleared his throat and tried to recall seeing a peachy mist or hearing unusual nervous laughter in the Ministry lifts, but in the end he shook his head. "Sorry, Mr Lovegood, I don't think—"

"Mr Potter," Madeline Wyndvane cut in, "how long have you been seeing Mr Malfoy?"

"Three weeks," Harry lied. Parkinson had insisted that Malfoy had agreed to the falsehood, in order to better refute the Amortentia rumours.

"And you have only recently decided to make your relationship public?"

"Yes." Harry's voice was firm. "I have no intention of hiding who I am. There is no shame in being attracted to someone of the same sex."

"What about being attracted to a Death Eater?" someone muttered. Harry stared at the man, whose name he had forgotten.

"That sort of divisive prejudice is part of what led to the war," Harry snapped. "I refuse to allow past history, or choices people made during their childhood, or actions performed while they were under duress with the threat of harm to their family members, influence my opinion of who they have become. Draco Malfoy is a healer at St Mungo's, an intelligent and interesting companion, and a respectable member of our society. Anyone who can't see past the Dark Mark on his arm does not deserve to know him."

Harry's heated words had not been in the script, but the approving smile from Hermione let Harry know his ad-lib had been acceptable.

"Malfoy does have a Dark Mark, then?" a young witch asked. Harry frowned at her and she added, "Tattoos are sexy."

"The Dark Mark is not sexy!" the male reporter snapped.

The witch laughed. "According to _my _readers, it is. Some of them find it very kinky indeed and would be interested to know if Mr Potter finds it to be so, as well." She lifted a brow and Harry's face flamed. He had never considered that Malfoy's Dark Mark might be a turn-on, had never thought of it at all except as a connection to Voldemort, but he supposed it was just another part of Draco, another scar to be carried like the one Harry had given him. Malfoy had been permanently marked by both sides during the war. It was a sobering thought.

"That's a very personal question," Harry said after clearing his throat and dispelling the image.

"And yet, you did not reply in the negative," the witch replied craftily.

"I will not deny that I find Draco Malfoy very attractive," Harry admitted, "Tattoos and scars included."

"What sort of shampoo does he use?"

"You will have to ask him," Harry said with a grin.

"You have not been in his shower, then?"

"Nice try. Next question?" Harry ignored the sudden desire to see Malfoy's shower, preferably with him in it.

Harry answered the remaining questions without panicking. He refused to answer the invasive questions, most of which came from the young witch (what is your favourite sexual position?) and ignored the rude ones (how long have you known you were a ponce?) until Hermione stepped in and announced the end of the meeting.

Harry gratefully left the room and collapsed into a chair whilst Ron and Hermione ushered the reporters out.

"Well done, Potter," Pansy said.

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "_Witch Weekly_ will publish a glowing report of your love affair. That twat from _Glamour_ will make up kinks you didn't know you had, and _Quidditch Quarterly _will either ignore it completely or come up with rude speculation about you—homophobic, that one, but it won't matter because the next issue doesn't come out for another month and a half. Good timing, there. By then, you'll be old news, hopefully."

Harry nodded and loosened the collar of his Auror robes. He could hardly wait to get out of them, take a hot bath, and climb into bed. It had been a long day, despite the fact that it was just past eight.

"The Quibbler will write—well, who cares what they'll write? That idiot will probably talk about invisible creatures inhabiting the Ministry lift and what sort of canapés they prefer."

"He's not an idiot," Harry said tiredly, but Pansy only waved an impatient hand.

"Whatever. What matters is that you've come clean and absolved Draco of foul play. They'll be gnashing their teeth at the _Prophet _and printing more lies, but they'll not have a leg to stand on. Also, I'm going shopping for something appropriate for you to wear tomorrow evening. Expect a bill from Haversham's Paris and don't complain about the cost. You obviously haven't spent more than a hundred Galleons on your entire wardrobe, so you're past due purchasing something decent."

"Wait, tomorrow what?"

"Did I forget to mention it? You're taking Draco to the—what's that called again, Granger?" She directed the question to Hermione, who had entered with Ron.

"The Collaborative Relief Order for Needy Youngsters. They have a fundraiser tomorrow and we thought it would be nice for you to be seen with Draco at a societal function rather than just out on the town. If you are in the public eye, there will be a lessened need for rumour and speculation."

"C.R.O.N.Y.?" Ron sniggered.

"Ron," Hermione said warningly.

"Well, they are mostly old," Pansy said, earning a smile from Ron. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

"Fine. Whatever. Can I go home now?" Harry asked.

"You are free to go, Potter. I will see you after work tomorrow. Don't be late."

"Goodnight, Harry. You did a great job," Hermione said and kissed his cheek.

"Bye, mate." Ron lifted a hand and grinned.

Harry Disapparated.

ooOooOoo

Once home, Harry shucked his Auror robes and tossed them on the back of the usual chair. He seldom hung them up, since he wore them five days a week, sometimes more.

He was just about to step into a hot bath when his Floo chimed.

"Always when I am about to take a bloody bath," he muttered and pulled on a pair of ratty sweatpants. He stomped to the fireplace and hoped it wasn't the office; he was not in the mood to go chasing after criminals.

To his surprise, Malfoy's face appeared in the flames.

"Draco?" he asked.

"Hello. I just finished up at work and wondered if you had eaten." Malfoy paused and then grimaced. "Of course you have. It's half-eight."

"No!" Harry said quickly, hoping Malfoy would not break the connection. "Actually, I haven't."

"Well." Malfoy said nothing for a moment and then continued, "I picked up some take-away. Far too much, really, so I wondered if you might like some."

"Yes. Please, come through."

Malfoy's face disappeared and then he stepped through the flames, looking casual (but still amazing) in brown trousers and a peach-coloured button down shirt. Harry stared at him, never having thought to see him in anything but greens and silvers.

Malfoy frowned and brushed at the front of his shirt. "What is it? Floo Powder? Or something disgusting from work?"

"No, nothing!" Harry said quickly and moved his attention to the take-away bag Malfoy toted. "Here, bring that into the kitchen. We can eat on real dishes, if you'd like."

"I would like," Malfoy said.

Harry turned and headed for the kitchen.

"You are not… wearing a shirt," Malfoy said behind him.

"I wasn't expecting you." Harry laughed and threw a glance over his shoulder. "Shall I dress for dinner?"

To his surprise, Malfoy's cheeks went pink. "No, of course not, Potter. I was merely making an observation."

Harry thought it was a rather obvious observation, but he said nothing as he pulled some plates from the cupboard and sent them to the table with a flick of his wand. He decided a bottle of wine might be a nice touch and waded into the pantry to look at the selection of bottles stacked therein.

"Where do you keep your utensils, Potter?"

"Third drawer left of the sink!" Harry called and frowned at the bottles. The names were all gibberish to him. "Kreacher!" he hissed in a stage whisper.

The old elf popped up next to him with a baleful glare.

"Sorry! I need a good wine! Help."

Kreacher muttered to himself, but pointed at two bottles, one red and one white. Harry whispered his thanks and grabbed both before returning to the kitchen. "Not sure which would be better with…"

"Caribbean."

"Caribbean?"

Malfoy nodded and pulled several containers from the tote. "Jerk pork, curry shrimp, Jamaican polenta, and jollof rice. I think she threw some couscous in because she likes me. And coco bread."

The spread looked amazing and smelled even better. Harry's mouth watered and he realized he was quite hungry. "I've never had Caribbean food."

"Then you are in for a treat. Open the red, I think, mostly because I prefer it."

Harry retrieved wineglasses whilst Malfoy separated the food from the containers and arranged it in serving dishes. Harry sat down after pouring the wine.

"Thank you," he said, "for stopping by. And for thinking of me."

Malfoy smiled and took a drink of his wine. He made an approving sound and said, "Pansy told me about your press conference. You have my condolences."

"It wasn't so bad."

"I was referring to your working with Pansy."

"Well. That was pretty bad. Condolences accepted."

Malfoy chuckled and Harry grinned. Malfoy lifted his glass and Harry clinked his against it before taking a large drink. He tucked into his food and found it delicious.

"This bread!" Harry said later. "It's so sweet and soft." It tasted almost like cake. He could easily have eaten the entire loaf, and had polished off quite a lot of it already. The jerk pork was both sweet and hot, and the shrimp was garlicky with enough heat to have Harry gulping his wine to cool his tongue.

Malfoy ate without seeming to notice the heat of the food, which warmed Harry from the inside out.

Harry leaned back and patted his bare abdomen when he had finished. His skin felt as stretched as a tribal drum and Malfoy's eyes widened when they followed the movement of Harry's hand. "I can't eat another bite," Harry announced with a groan.

Malfoy's gaze returned to Harry's face. "Good that I did not add dessert then."

Harry laughed. "Yeah. I might bust." He reached for the bottle and gave it a shake. They had finished the first bottle of wine and were nearly through a second. Harry felt deliciously tipsy. "We should probably finish this off, though. I won't drink it." He topped off both glasses. "Want to sit in the living room? The sofa is much more comfortable than these awful chairs."

Malfoy nodded and picked up his glass. Harry led the way to the living room and impulsively turned on the Wireless before he sat down on the sofa. Malfoy sat next to him, albeit with a respectable gap between them. The rich sounds of a violin concerto drifted over as Harry took another long drink of his wine. He tried to think of a topic of conversation and realized it had been much easier over dinner, exclaiming over the varied flavours and listening to Malfoy detail the origins of certain spices.

"I've never been here," Malfoy said, looking around. "This is the ancestral home of the Blacks, is it not? My mother mentioned that you lived here now."

Harry took in the room with a start. If not for Sirius giving the house to him, it would probably have been Draco's. "She grew up here, then?"

Malfoy nodded and then wrinkled his nose. "I am glad she married my father."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I admit it's not the happiest-looking house in the world. I should probably do some work on it. Make it nicer, or something. It's hard to find the time."

"Too busy saving the world?"

Harry snorted. "Too busy sorting bloody paperwork. You have no idea how many forms I have to fill out for every case, and how many detailed reports need to go to various departments. It's worse than Hogwarts."

Malfoy chuckled. "I feel your pain. Every patient requires a chart filled out in quintuplicate, and anything new or unusual has to be documented for research and posterity."

"I sometimes hate it when Hermione is right. She always said I would need writing skills when I left school."

"Isn't she usually right?" Malfoy asked.

Harry laughed. "Yeah. She is that." He impulsively clinked his glass against Malfoy's.

"How close were you to saying yes to Oliver Wood and company?"

"Will you stop bringing that up?" Harry laughed again and nearly spilled his wine. Malfoy's answering chuckle was richer than the wine, and seemed to burn through his blood with even more warmth.

"You turn a delightful shade of red whenever I mention it," Malfoy said.

Harry felt his cheeks go even pinker and he tugged at his fringe. "You are evil."

"Well, that hasn't changed since school," Malfoy said and leaned closer.

_He means to kiss me_, Harry thought with a flash of amazement, quickly drowned by panic. His heart pounded wildly as he realized he would like nothing better than to kiss Malfoy-and more-but Malfoy could not possibly want to kiss him. Not if he were sober and in his right mind. He had consumed nearly a full bottle of wine. Harry leaned back and held up a restraining hand. _Business arrangement_! he reminded himself wildly. "We can't… um. We can't do this."

Another part of his brain—possibly the portion connected to his cock—began to scream in frustrated rage, but even if Harry regretted his momentary insanity it was too late.

Malfoy sat back abruptly, all humour and softness disappearing from his features as a familiar cold mask took their place. "Quite right, Potter. Of course we can't." He slammed his wineglass down on the table and got to his feet.

Harry stood up and tried to set his glass down in the same motion. It fell over and shattered on the table, spilling a stream of wine that poured over the edge and dribbled onto the floor. He ignored it to hurry after Malfoy, who was already halfway to the kitchen and headed for the fireplace.

"Wait!" Harry called, desperation tinting his words. He wanted—

"Goodnight, Potter. I will see you tomorrow at the appointed time. I trust you will not act like a blushing virgin whilst we are in the public eye. This is all for show, after all." The words were said with a sneer and Harry held up a restraining hand, not quite certain what he had done to provoke Malfoy to such rage. Surely Malfoy hadn't _really _wanted to kiss him?

"Thank you for dinner," Harry said lamely.

Malfoy nodded, stepped into the flames, and was gone.

ooOooOoo

Harry had nearly gnawed through his quill by noon the next day. He had slept poorly, lying in bed and turning the moment with Malfoy over and over in his mind. He supposed it was vaguely possible Malfoy had been turned on by the thought of Oliver Wood and threesomes. Why else would he have tried to kiss him? Malfoy did not even like him. Although he was, possibly, willing to have sex with him. Feelings of friendship were not required to take someone to bed, but he already knew Harry did not play such games; Malfoy had already deduced Harry's desire for a relationship.

His head banged against the desk, not for the first time that day. "I am stupid," he muttered to himself. How could he have passed up a chance at kissing Malfoy, and possibly more? Granted, Malfoy was not relationship material, but sex would probably have been mind-blowing.

Pansy breezed into Harry's office without knocking and called, "That will be all, Matilda" to Harry's secretary, who yelled, "It's Marjorie, you bloody—!" The door slammed on the words and Pansy strode forwards to toss a Self-Pressing Robe Carrier onto Harry's desk. "The event starts at six o'clock, so you'll not have time to go home and change. You'll be meeting Draco there. I suggested it might be nice for him to pick you up, but he seemed annoyed at the prospect. Did you two quarrel?"

"No," Harry said and plucked at the quill he still held. Another few feathery bits came off in his hand and he realized he probably had ink all over his fingers.

She stared at him piercingly and Harry thought it lucky that she had never married, for the safety of some unlucky bloke.

"I am very good at Legilimency, Potter," she stated.

He glared at her. "I am an Auror and could have you tossed out, you know."

She snorted and plucked a file from the corner of his desk.

"Hey! That's classified!" he yelped. He tossed his quill aside and snatched up his wand to spell it out of her hands.

She pouted. "You're no fun, Potter. I don't know what Draco sees in you."

"He doesn't see anything!" Harry snapped. "Now get out."

"Fine. Granger and I will not be there, so you're on your own. Don't do anything stupid, if you can manage."

"Thanks. I'll try to get on without you."

ooOooOoo

Harry had expected to find terrifying and stiff dress robes in the package, but instead he discovered a stylish set of grey trousers, a tight-fitting long-sleeved shirt in brilliant white, and a thigh-length dark red robe that buckled on with a wide black belt. The robe was more of a jacket and looked vaguely piratical, but very fashionable. Harry had admired similar clothing whilst out with Draco—_Malfoy_—at the restaurant.

He changed in his office after sending Marjorie home for the day. Once he was dressed, he combed his fingers through his hair, dropped the wards around his office, and Disapparated.

He had not known what to expect from the venue, but a Quidditch pitch had not been anything he had envisioned.

"Mr Potter!" A high-pitched voice called and he turned to see a tiny, round woman bustling towards him. She wore an enormous hat bedecked with an assortment of flowers, and several butterflies fluttered in her wake. Her dress mimicked the floral pattern and hugged her figure a bit more tightly than seemed prudent. "Mr Potter, how nice of you to join us!" She finally reached him and grabbed his hand to shake it vigorously.

"Thank you," Harry said. "I am glad to be here."

"I am Gladys Grimstone of the Pembroke Grimstones. Your young man has been here entertaining us with stories of your derring-do." She tucked Harry's hand into the crook of her arm and practically dragged him across the grass to a small crowd gathered before the gates of the pitch. Malfoy's unadorned blond hair stood out amongst the sea of hats and coiffed grey hair.

When Harry approached, Malfoy's eyes met his without expression, and then his gaze softened and he strode forwards. "Harry," he said warmly and slid his arm around Harry's waist. Dry lips brushed against Harry's cheek.

He had steeled himself not to blush, but he felt his face warm at the peck, fuelled by Malfoy's proximity.

"Hi," Harry replied.

Gladys giggled. "No need to be shy, Mr Potter. The girls and I might look as if we've one foot in the grave, but we are very in touch with the younger generation! Not that boys being seen with boys was a rarity in our day, hey, Alice?" She nudged a nearby grey-haired woman with her elbow.

"Mind the ribs, Gladys. I don't fancy another trip to Mungo's. Boys kissing boys, girls kissing girls, bah! Everyone ends up alone in the end. What does it matter?"

"She's just bitter because her husband left her for a younger woman back in '63," Gladys said in a stage whisper.

"Can we go watch the Quidditch now and stop standing around jawing?" the other woman asked loudly.

"Of course, dear. Come along, boys. We brought refreshments. They are on the table over there by the gate and we have seats in the reserved section." Gladys toddled off with the other women in tow.

Malfoy's arm fell away from Harry and the cool mask slipped back into place. Harry missed his warmth.

"Look, I want to say—" Harry started.

"Never mind, Potter. Let's get this over with so you needn't spend one more moment in my presence. Smile; there's a photographer coming this way."

Harry pasted a smile on his face, feeling murderous. He followed Malfoy to the refreshment table, expecting biscuits and pumpkin juice. To his delight, there were several bottles of Firewhisky, vodka, and rum spread out on the table, along with hearty-looking sandwiches made with roast beef and mounds of shredded chicken.

Harry grabbed a glass, ignoring the food in favour of something to help him through an evening of Draco's Malfoy's quixotic temperament. Malfoy downed a shot of Firewhiskey and then picked up a clear drink adorned with cucumber slices. Harry opted for a tumbler half-filled with Firewhisky.

Malfoy frowned and took it from him, ignoring his protest. He pushed another glass into Harry's hand, this one filled with something red and stuffed with an assortment of vegetables.

"Drink this. It will keep you from passing out, since I doubt you ate anything for lunch. The juice will give you some energy and you can eat the vegetables. You should take a sandwich, as well. I recommend the beef and Havarti."

Harry nearly protested, but one of the elderly ladies appeared at his side and reached past him to heft a bottle. "Pardon my reach, young man, but I need this to keep Lenora from talking about her horrible son all evening."

She departed, clutching the bottle, and by the time Harry turned back, Malfoy had thrust a plate at him and moved towards the gates. A _Sonorous_-enhanced voice boomed out a welcome, quelling all attempts at speech.

Harry hurried after him.

The rest of the evening was torture. Draco sat far too close (Harry gave up completely on trying to think of him as Malfoy), fed him bites of his sandwich with his fingers, and commented on the Quidditch players by leaning in and murmuring into Harry's ear. By the end of the first hour, Harry was half-hard and very glad of the plate covering his lap.

"Shall I Vanish your plate?" Draco asked at one point, sliding his fingers beneath the ceramic edge and grazing Harry's thigh with his knuckles.

"No!" Harry cried. "It's—I'm not finished!" He gamely lifted the crust of bread and nibbled at it, determined to make it last the remainder of the game.

Draco lifted a brow and smirked at him before dabbing at Harry's lips with a conjured napkin. "Very well. Darling."

The last word accompanied a bright flash and Harry bit back a groan. He vowed to hex the next bloody photographer he saw, business arrangement or not. The stupid event could not end soon enough to suit him.

Harry shut his eyes when Draco rested his head on Harry's shoulder. Blond hair tickled his face and the tantalising scent of Draco's hair product invaded Harry's senses. The women surrounding them "awwww"ed and giggled.

Harry realised he was doomed.

ooOooOoo

The next three weeks brought more of the same. Draco was lovable and sweet whenever they were in the public eye, clinging to Harry at a charity banquet, dancing with him at a Ministry function, laughing as he placed a bite of chocolate on Harry's tongue in Diagon Alley, and plastering himself so closely to Harry it would have taken a spell to remove him whenever a photographer appeared.

He was the exact opposite when they were alone. He interrupted Harry, spoke in monosyllables dripping with sarcasm, and never stood fewer than eight feet away. He communicated almost solely through owls, or through the suspicious person that inhabited Pansy Parkinson's body.

"What gives, Potter?" she demanded, marching into his office after pushing the door open so forcefully it banged against the wall. "Fuck off, Melanie!"

"Never mind, Marjorie!" Harry cried and lifted a hand to stop his secretary from hexing Pansy.

"One day, Auror Potter…" Marjorie warned.

Harry hurried to shut the door, murmuring soothing words to Marjorie and promising to take her to lunch the following week. Twice.

He turned back to Pansy, who had thrown herself sideways into Harry's chair and crossed her legs. Her skirt was far too short for such a pose and revealed much more skin than Harry preferred.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I am here because of _this_," she said. She glared at him and tugged a small scroll from her blouse before brandishing it at him.

Harry took it, frowning when he unrolled it and read the script. It was a copy of a message Draco had sent him several days prior. "How did you get this?"

Pansy tsked. "Snoop secrets. What the hell are you two playing at?"

Harry shook the parchment. "Obviously, we're playing at being boyfriends. Although not for much longer." His teeth clenched together as he read down the list.

**_Wednesday_**_ – 8pm dinner at Alfonso's, wear the emerald robes  
**Thursday** – no plans, on shift at the hospital, so you might send a note  
**Friday** – Edgecombe dinner party – they hate you, so wear Gryffindor colours and be prepared to dodge biting comments and smile falsely  
**Saturday** – 3pm – Spectacular breakup in Diagon Alley – you have the script_

The script involved them getting into a shouting match over Harry's apparent ogling of another man. They had decided to paint Draco as a jealous lover and Harry as growing bored. Such an act would implicate neither of them as a particular villain of the piece, hopefully. It still made Harry feel ill to read the words. Soon it would all be over.

"Do you mean to tell me you've been faking this whole time?" Pansy demanded.

_Draco has_, Harry thought. Aloud he said, "Yes. We planned it from the beginning when you and Hermione arranged for us to meet. You never did say why you agreed to that, by the way. Draco said it was a vicious joke on your part."

"Did he?" she asked as she swung her legs down and stood up. She muttered something that sounded like, "_Stupid bloody bollocking idiot_" and then tossed, "I'm going to see Granger!" over her shoulder before slamming her way out.

Harry pushed three fingers against his temple. His headache had begun long before Pansy had stormed into his office.

He looked at the list again. On his copy, Wednesday had already been crossed out. Dinner the previous night had been particularly difficult. Draco had worn white, and looked so delectable that Harry had barely tasted his food for suppressing the urge to lean across the table and drag Draco into a bruising kiss. He might have done it for the publicity alone if not for fear that Draco would hex his balls off the moment they were alone.

Instead he made flirty, fake small-talk and ached with want.

He sighed, thinking perhaps it was for the best that he wouldn't see Draco later. _Send a note_. He considered dropping in at St Mungo's for a surprise visit, but he had no idea what sort of reception that might bring. It would probably be best to follow the instructions.

"Send a note," he muttered. "Dear Draco, I am painfully in love with you." He snorted a laugh. Well, perhaps he wasn't in love quite yet, but certainly in lust. In lust and intrigued and insane, apparently.

He touched his wand tip to the Spello-o-com on his desk. "Marjorie, if you were going to send a sort of 'I miss you' letter to someone, what would you say?"

"I'll be right there, Auror Potter!" she replied in her oh-you-poor-boy voice.

ooOooOoo

Draco was delectable. Hermione would be pleased to note how much Harry knew about that word. Delectable. It meant greatly pleasing. Delightful. Extremely beautiful. Delicious. Greatly pleasing to taste. Harry would like nothing better than to taste Draco, starting with those amazing lips and working his way down to what he assumed were perfect feet, and then tasting his way back up again.

He realized he'd been staring too long when Draco's expression turned wary. "What?" Draco demanded.

Harry located his voice, swimming somewhere through the visions of lust that made the words scratch out as though dragged over pavement. "Nothing. You look… nice."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course I look nice, Potter. It's a dinner party." His eyes skated over Harry and then he shrugged. "I suppose you look nice, too. Thanks to Pansy, I assume?"

"Thanks. And yeah." The compliment warmed Harry more than it should have and he wanted to kick himself for being so pleased by it. He had worn Gryffindor colours, as requested, but he felt a bit strange in them. It had been a long time since he had associated himself with anything at Hogwarts, other than an occasional random thought about Gryffindor bravery. The red robes were soft, though, and edged in gold silk. Harry had thought them far too ostentatious, but Pansy had clapped her hands and declared them "Perfect!" with an evil cackle.

"Are you ready?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Is there any way we could…?" _Do something else_, he wanted to ask. _Go somewhere alone. Find a Muggle café and just talk. Walk along the Thames. Sit in front of the fireplace and watch the flames. Fall into bed and make wild, passionate love until_—

"No. This is vital to our breakup tomorrow. You know that."

"Yeah. About that—"

"No time, Potter. We're losing our window of fashionable lateness. Come here."

The words jolted Harry and he stepped forwards without question to wrap himself around Draco. He rested his chin on Draco's shoulder and soaked up the warmth of his body, wanting to stay there forever.

Draco shoved him away. "Not that close! Idiot. I'm going to Apparate us. Just take my hand."

Harry took his hand and smiled winningly, but the lurch of Apparition wiped the expression from his face. When the sensation stopped, they were stood on a stone pathway that led to a large house, not quite at large as Malfoy Manor, but still impressive. Harry swallowed, suddenly nervous. He hated public gatherings, especially those filled with people he did not know—or those that he knew despised him.

"Oh, stop. You'll be fine," Draco said.

Harry glared at him. "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one going to have his picture in the paper tomorrow for using the wrong bloody fork."

"You're not going to use the wrong fork. Not with me around. Now, relax." To Harry's surprise, Draco gripped his chin and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Harry glanced around but saw no one, no reporters, no photographers, not even other attendees. Draco had never displayed affection for him without a reason.

Draco coughed and roughly adjusted the front of Harry's robes. His eyes met Harry's for a moment and time seemed to stop. Harry wanted to lean in, perhaps beg for a real kiss. "Thanks," Harry said impulsively. "I couldn't have done this without you. Any of it, I mean. I would still be hiding who I was if not for you. So, thanks."

Draco smiled, a genuine smile, the likes of which Harry had not seen in a very long time, not since the night of the aborted kiss (and oh, how Harry had gone over that moment, wishing it had played out differently). "You are quite welcome. I suppose I should thank you, as well. Now people spit at me on the street for daring to touch you, rather than for the fact that I was a Death Eater."

Harry winced.

"No, it's better! Trust me."

"It's still not right."

Draco chuckled and shook his head. "Well, after tomorrow it will no longer be your problem." He offered his elbow to Harry. "Shall we?"

Harry took it, holding more tightly than warranted. "Draco?"

"No more Hufflepuff sentiments, Potter. I need food and alcohol, not necessarily in that order."

With that, Draco led Harry up the steps and into the house.

~TBC~ (This fic is only 24k, so only one chapter left!) *runs away*


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to certain people begging and others being incredibly persistent, this chapter is going up MUCH EARLIER than planned. LOL! Enjoy! :D

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

The dinner party was hellish. Marietta Edgecombe wore her hair in an attractive fringe _(to cover lasting scars_? Harry wondered guiltily and rubbed the back of his hand—he certainly had enough of those to never wish them on anyone else). She glared at him as though he were made of something distasteful.

She turned her stare on Draco. "I thought you were joking," she said.

"Our relationship has been in the papers for weeks, Marietta. Catch up," Draco said and breezed past her to claim his seat at the table.

Dinner was made up of rubbery, overcooked chicken, mushy peas, Brussels sprouts cooked in some horrific sauce, and thankfully passable potatoes. Harry nibbled at most of the meal and consumed all of his potatoes. The starch did little to soak up the wine.

"Stop that," Draco hissed. "How many glasses have you consumed?"

"MANY," Harry said decisively and lifted his current glass for emphasis before downing it.

"Salazar save us," Draco muttered.

"He shan't," Harry said, "because he's dead!"

Heads turned at Harry's last word; apparently it was a faux-pas to speak of dead things at the dinner table, even when the meal was largely finished but for some soggy, coffee-flavoured concoction that had been served for afters.

"Let us retire to the ballroom for some musical entertainment," Marietta's mother said loudly.

Draco leaned close to Harry and growled in his ear over the cover of chairs scraping against the stone floor. Harry quite liked it when he leaned close and growled; if Draco hoped to curtail Harry's bad behaviour by rewarding him, he was certainly doing it wrong.

"I am going to cast a very unpleasant Sobering Charm upon you if you do not behave and stick to our agreed-upon scenario. What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

Draco got to his feet and followed the others, apparently not seeking an answer. Harry could have told him if he'd stuck around. His feet felt leaden and he bumped painfully into the doorframe on the way out. Perhaps a Sobering Charm would not be a bad idea.

The ballroom was nothing more than a high-ceilinged room draped with fabric in a horrible shade of not-quite-pink. Two gaudy chandeliers lit the room brightly and a large harpsichord played itself in one corner, twinkling out a dolorous tune for two portly couples that twirled upon the polished floor in a waltz.

"Want to dance?" Harry asked brightly, catching up to Draco.

"No, I do not," Draco said. A table against one wall had been stacked with champagne glasses and a naked cupid peed the bubbly liquid into a catch basin—rather revoltingly, Harry thought, and he rebelled at the idea of more drinking for the first time that night. Draco had no such qualms, and held up a glass to catch the liquid that spilled from the thumb-sized penis.

Harry pressed against Draco's back, trapping him against the table. "Did you know I can still speak Parseltongue?" Harry asked. Draco stiffened as Harry hissed into Draco's ear. He couldn't, actually, but who was to know that?

Draco turned around, managing not to spill his champagne, and then gripped Harry's sleeve to drag him away to a corner of the room. "Listen, you. The plan is for you to ogle some fit bloke and for me to act the jealous lover whom you have _jilted_. Do you remember? Now, stop staring at me like a lovesick puppy, do not tempt me with fucking _Parseltongue_, and find someone to properly ogle. Granted, the pickings are slim, but that tall fellow over there with Domino Netherwalk is a potential candidate."

Harry grinned. "Were you really tempted by the Parseltongue?"

"_The bloke_," Draco said warningly.

"Oh all right." Harry pouted, but turned to look at the indicated fellow. "Merlin, no. He's too tall. And all… angle-y."

"You don't need to date him, Potter, you simply need to act as though you find him attractive."

"Well, I don't find him attractive," Harry said belligerently. To please Draco, however, he turned and scanned the room. "How about that bloke, over there. He's not bad."

"Morgan Blythe-Blakely?"

"Impressive name."

"He's happily married. That woman clinging to his arm is his wife."

"Doesn't make him any less fit. What's he do?"

"Something to do with importing, I believe. I don't think he's fit at all."

"Of course he is. Granted, he looks a bit buttoned-up and I hate the way his nice blond hair is all slicked down like that—thank you for not doing that to yours any longer, by the way."

An elbow dug into his ribs. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"Nothing. I am going to go and mingle. You stay here and ogle Blythe-Blakely, if you must. And don't drink anything else." With that, Draco strode away and struck up a conversation with a man Harry vaguely recognized from the Ministry.

Harry turned his attention back to Blythe-Blakely, who was spinning on the dance floor with his wife. He was somewhat attractive, although boring in comparison to Draco. He was also too-muscular and too-tanned. However, in a world without Draco Malfoy, Harry supposed he would suffice. Now, to ogle. He frowned, uncertain how to go about ogling someone you would rather not.

He glanced at Draco instead and grinned. Now, _he_was definitely worth ogling. Harry should have known he was doomed from the moment Malfoy had revealed himself in the pub when the Glamour Galleons came off. Draco was slender, elegant, witty, amusing… and disliked him intensely.

Harry sighed heavily.

"Hello, Mr Potter."

Harry dragged his gaze from Draco to find intended target of his ogling smiling at him.

"I am Morgan Blythe-Blakely. I've always wanted to meet you and shake the hand of the man who ended that unpleasantness with You-Know-Who. Terrible time, that." He stuck out his hand and Harry took it absently. Blythe-Blakely had perfect teeth and vaguely reminded him of Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Hi," Harry said. "Pleased to meet you. I see you're here with your… lovely wife?" Harry looked around for her and located her near the tea service.

"Indeed. This might seem presumptuous of me and I hope you don't take offense, but honestly it saves time, I have noticed. Anyway, my wife and I are on the adventurous side, having been married many, many years, and we have found that we like to spice things up, as it were, in the bedchamber."

Harry's eyes widened as Blythe-Blakely's voice lowered to a conspiratorial timbre and he leaned close enough that Harry was nearly overpowered by his cologne. Possibly emboldened by Harry's silence, Blythe-Blakely continued, "With that said, we were wondering if you might be up for joining us for a ménage a trois. At your convenience." He pulled back and smiled winningly.

Harry, slightly panicked, looked for Draco.

"Oh, your Mr Malfoy is welcome, as well," Blythe-Blakely said smoothly. "The more the merrier, I say. He is quite fit."

Harry's cheeks were burning and he opened his mouth several times, but no sound emerged. He felt as though a piece of chalk had lodged in his throat.

"No need to answer right away, of course. Take all the time you need to think about it. Here is my card, should you decide in the affirmative. An owl with a simple 'Yes' will suffice." Blythe-Blakely tucked a small white card into Harry's lapel pocket and patted it gently. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy making his way back towards him.

"Um. Thank you," Harry finally managed. "I will. Um. Think about it."

Blythe-Blakely smiled again, bowed, and nodded at Draco before striding in the direction of his wife.

"That seemed to be a bit more than ogling," Draco said with a strange tone to his voice that Harry's hadn't heard before. "What did he want?"

Harry coughed and pulled at his collar. Perhaps he had imbibed a bit too much. It seemed to be too warm in the room. "Er. A threesome." Well, foursome, actually. Harry opened his mouth to tack on that titbit, but Draco's face darkened like a thundercloud.

"_What_?" he hissed. "And what did you say?"

Harry started at his venomous tone. "I told him I'd think about it."

"Did you?" Draco snatched up Harry's hand and practically dragged him from the room. "I have had enough. We are leaving."

"Okay," Harry said, striving not to trip. He lifted the hand that was not being crushed by Draco's grip and waved. "Bye, Marietta! Lovely party! Thanks for inviting us!" he called.

She gave him a glare and a half-hearted flick of one hand. Draco growled. When the front door had closed behind them, Draco turned to face him. "I will Apparate us, you drunken idiot."

Harry nodded and then had to fight a battle with his stomach as they lurched away and appeared in Harry's kitchen. He let go of Draco and staggered to the sink, fearing the worst.

"Do you want a Sobering Charm?" Draco asked, sounding almost solicitous.

Harry shook his head. "I think I'm okay," he said as the nausea ebbed. He ran some water and splashed it on his face.

"Well. That actually played quite well into our plans." Despite the words, Draco sounded anything but pleased. Harry turned to look at him, blinking at the water droplets that clung to his eyelashes. He _Accioed _a hand towel and patted at his face.

"I guess," he said dubiously.

Draco sighed and seemed to hesitate before shaking his head. "I will see you tomorrow, then. Don't be late." He turned towards the fireplace.

"Why don't you like vegetables?" Harry asked.

Draco looked over his shoulder and his lips quirked in a bemused fashion. "What?"

"I saw you burying your peas at dinner. And before, you wouldn't eat green beans. What do you have against green vegetables?"

"You noticed that?"

"I've noticed… a lot of things," Harry admitted.

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Vegetables are vile. I can tolerate sprouts when properly prepared, but most everything else green is disgusting."

"Spinach?"

"No, thank you."

"Okra?"

"I do not even know what that is, but it sounds unpleasant. Why are we talking about this? You are extremely odd when you are drunk."

Harry was babbling because he didn't want Draco to leave, but he couldn't think of a proper way to stop him.

"Coffee?" Harry asked.

"No, I don't care for coffee, either."

"I meant, would you like some? Or tea? I have Butterbeer. And some Muggle juice that Hermione likes."

Draco gave him a puzzled stare. "No, thank you. I have an early shift tomorrow and then we have our exhibition to stage." He walked to the fireplace and reached into the Floo powder container. He looked at Harry once more. "Are you going to accept Blythe-Blakely's offer?"

Harry's look of abject horror must have been crystal clear, because Draco actually laughed.

"I see. Well, then," Draco said and his voice went soft and quiet, "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Draco."

ooOooOoo

Harry had a hard time sleeping that night. He finally drifted off in the wee hours of the morning and woke up late feeling tired and out of sorts. Three cups of tea and some toast with jam helped, but did nothing to calm his stomach. It was in knots because of his upcoming "spectacular breakup" with Draco.

Their plan had worked surprisingly well. The press had mostly died down about their relationship. They had been seen together often enough that even the gossip columns were getting bored with them and the vitriolic editorials in the _Daily Prophet _were old news, bumped down from top billing by the far more interesting news regarding a love triangle between Kirley Duke, lead guitarist for the Weird Sisters, Emily Taylor, the married head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Lorcan d'Eath, the famous vampire singer.

Harry was not even sure why he and Draco needed a public breakup. Surely they could just drift away quietly and no one would even notice? Harry had tried to bring it up to Draco several times, but the prat had always changed the subject and insisted that Harry shut up and follow the script. Harry had even tried to mention the failed kiss, but Draco's grey eyes had flashed such fire that Harry had reconciled himself to the fact that Draco regretted the attempt immensely and wished never to discuss his drunken near-mistake.

Harry sighed and then showered and dressed. When he padded back downstairs, he saw an owl waiting for him. His breath caught until he realized it wasn't Draco's owl, but a standard post owl. The message was from Hermione, asking him to Floo over when he woke up. A moment later, her voice called from the fireplace.

"Harry! Are you awake? I want to talk to you!"

He frowned, not certain he was in the mood for a nagging this morning. He was feeling a bit miffed with her for colluding with Pansy to set him up with Draco to begin with, now that it was coming to an end in a most unsatisfying way. He knew she hadn't meant to leave him with heartache, but that didn't change the fact that Harry felt miserable.

It was irrational to blame her, however, and he didn't want to upset her by acting like a prat, so he stayed out of the kitchen and ignored her call, choosing to Apparate out and visit a Muggle bakery that made a divine treacle tart. Harry wanted some comfort food. After the treacle tart, several cups of tea, and some time reading through the _Times_, he realized it was almost time to go and prepare for his breakup with Draco. He realized he would rather stab a fork through the back of his hand, straight through the faded words that read _I will not tell lies_.

When he left the coffee shop and headed for a place to Apparate from, an owl swooped down and landed on his shoulder. The message read:

_HARRY JAMES POTTER WHERE ARE YOU? I REALLY WANT TO SPEAK WITH YOU!_

Harry marvelled at Hermione's ability to shout in note form. Another owl-this one Draco's-landed on his other shoulder and nipped his ear.

"Stop that!" he growled and removed the message. He waved Hermione's post owl away and opened Draco's note.

**_Unexpected work shift change. Meet at 1pm, not 3pm. Do not be late._**

Harry hurried to the Apparition point, cursing. It was already 12:35. He held tightly to Draco's owl and Apparated home. The bird squawked and left his shoulder in a flurry of wings to perch on his bedpost.

"Oh, shush," Harry said, "I know that didn't hurt you. And now you don't have to fly as far." He scribbled **_I'll be there _**on a fresh piece of parchment and attached it to the irritated owl, earning two nips on his fingers before the beast flew out the window.

He sent a Patronus to Hermione that said, "I'm at home, but on my way out. What's so urgent?" He tore his clothing off at record speed and put on the trousers, shirt, and robes that Draco had suggested he wear, wishing he'd had time for a shower.

Hermione's Patronus burst in and the otter asked, "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you all day! And where are you going?"

Harry scrubbed his teeth and splashed some water on his hair before trying to comb it into something that wouldn't make Draco look at him like he was pathetic. He gave up and mussed it with his fingers. He was hopeless.

Harry cast another Patronus. "I'll be home around 1:30." He hoped that would appease Hermione. She hadn't mentioned what she wanted, so it couldn't be an emergency. Harry's meeting with Draco would definitely be over by then; Harry wanted it done with as soon as possible so that he could start wallowing in depression, possibly with a bottle of something strong and alcoholic.

Deciding his wardrobe was as good as it would get, Harry Apparated to Diagon Alley. He made his way to Quality Quidditch Supplies and stood gazing in the window at the latest racing broom. A nostalgic longing for Quidditch made him sigh heavily.

"Are you sorry you didn't go into professional Quidditch?" a familiar voice asked just before Draco's scent wafted over Harry's senses.

"Sometimes," Harry admitted and turned to look at him. Draco looked surprisingly dishevelled. His hair was out of place over one ear, sticking out in a way that would likely mortify him if he knew. He had dark circles under his eyes and there was a smudge of something purple at the corner of his jaw, just below his ear. "Rough morning?"

Malfoy nodded. "I was called in early and told them unequivocally that I was taking a break at one."

Harry stepped forward and fixed his hair, earning a surprised intake of breath from Draco. "You're kind of a mess," Harry said and added, "I like it."

Draco's cheeks went pink. "I did not have time to primp." He coughed and stepped away. "And I have to get back, despite my bravado. It's madness today."

"Yeah. Let's get this done with, I suppose," Harry said, not bothering to keep the regret from his voice.

They walked along the line of shops and Draco nodded towards Gringotts. Several people were milling in front of the bank, the best audience for their public shouting match.

"Well, then," Draco said as he stopped. "It's been nice knowing you, Potter." He raised his voice, launching into the breakup act. "Look, I know you were-!"

Harry kissed him. Not only did he kiss him, but he wrapped his fists in Draco's robes and hauled him forwards into a bruising kiss that knocked one of Draco's teeth into Harry's upper lip, but he didn't care. Draco's yelp of surprise was muffled by Harry's tongue and he did not relent for a moment. He kissed for all he was worth, pouring weeks of frustration and desire into every stroke of his tongue and every determined push-pull of his lips. Thankfully, Draco didn't shove him away. He didn't move at all, except to return Harry's kisses with what (hopefully) seemed to be enthusiasm. Eventually, Harry had to stop for air.

"What… what are you doing?" Draco asked, sounding breathless and dazed. His eyes were half-lidded and his lips were red. It was an unbelievable turn-on and Harry wanted nothing more than to continue kissing him. He desperately wanted to see Draco undone.

"I don't want to break up," Harry replied. "And I don't want to pretend anymore, not that I've been pretending for a while now. I want this for real. I want us. I want _you_."

Draco only blinked at him for long moments, until Harry started to think perhaps he'd been wrong and Draco didn't want him at all. At least until Draco said, "This is… a bit of a surprise."

Harry made a huffing sound. "Is it? And Hermione calls _me _oblivious."

"But you didn't want me. Before."

"Yes, I did. I really did. But you were drunk and I couldn't take advantage, plus I thought you were only interested in a one-off… You aren't, are you? Because I want-"

"A relationship, yes, we've covered that. I should have known you were just being a Gryffindor. Bloody hell, are you saying we could have been fucking this entire time?"

Harry's lust went into overdrive, hearing those words spill from Draco's lips. Without thinking twice about it, he Apparated them to the study at Grimmauld Place.

Draco made another startled sound and his fingers dug into Harry's waist, just above his hips. It felt incredibly erotic to Harry's heightened senses and he walked Draco backwards with a sound that was almost a growl.

"_Harry_," Draco said and it sounded more like permission than protest, so Harry pushed again, knowing Draco's thighs were pressed up against the sofa arm. Harry fell with him as he toppled, and then they were horizontal, lying atop the couch that had been the scene of many fantasies, daydreams in which Harry had pounced on Draco rather than allowing him to escape.

Draco was, without question, the best cushion Harry had ever found, despite a few jutting angles and an _oh-so-delightful _hardness pressing into Harry's thigh. Harry pushed, just there, and echoed the groan that rumbled past Draco's lips.

"God. Draco." Harry rocked against him, thinking he might go blind with want. Draco was beneath him, trapped, essentially, and Harry wanted to touch every part within reach.

"Harry, we can't…" Draco's voice was a breathless pant. "I need to get back to work."

"But you don't _want _to," Harry replied and placed biting kisses on Draco's jaw. He tasted wonderful, of salt and sweat and something almost mint-flavoured that was probably skin-moisturising potion.

Draco's hands were on him, as well, not pushing him away, but rather grasping, squeezing each handhold before moving on to the next one. "No, I don't _want _to," Draco replied. "But we're hellishly busy and I have a responsibility-"

Harry silenced him with a kiss, marvelling that the word "responsibility" could provoke an even greater surge of lust, because the thought of _Healer Malfoy _giving him an examination was ridiculously hot. Harry hadn't even known he could be kinky.

"We'll be quick," Harry promised. "Just a taste. One of those fancy appetizer thingies they brought to us before the meal last week."

"_Amuse-bouche_."

"Yes, that. _This_. An _amuse-bouche_ for now, and later when you are done working, we will have the main course. And starters. And sides. And _dessert_. And bloody hell, it's hot as fuck when you speak French. Not sure if I mentioned that." While Harry spoke, his hands pulled at Draco's clothing, dragging shirt from trousers and trousers from pants, until his fingers found the hard length of flesh he sought and-oh, it was lovely. And the sounds Draco made when it was discovered were lovelier still.

"Oh. Oh, Salazar, Harry, fuck." His hands tore at Harry's trousers, which had far too many buttons, but Harry could not spare a moment to help him. He was too busy watching the rise and fall of his hand over Draco's cock. "I felt the same about… _Merlin_… about your bloody Parseltongue."

Harry's head snapped up and his eyes locked on Draco's. "Parseltongue? Parseltongue turns you on? Like this?" He hissed a few drawn-out sounds, things vaguely remembered from the time when he could speak to snakes. He pretended they were sexy words, hissed worship of Draco's amazing body. Perhaps they were.

Draco arched beneath him and replied, "_Vous êtes difficile à comprendre et complètement irrationnel, mais vous êtes si séduisante que je me trouve impuissant attirés vers vous_." As he spoke, Draco's knuckles grazed Harry's cock through his jeans and his hips jerked forward involuntarily.

Harry made an unintelligible croaking sound and then said, "Bloody hell, I think I could come just from you talking to me."

"Entertaining idea, but I think this might be better for right now," Draco said and palmed Harry's cock. He pressed hard once, and then finally got Harry's trousers open with his other hand. In the next moment, Draco's bare hand was on him, sending Harry's pulse into another realm.

"Oh yes, you're absolutely right, so much better," Harry agreed in a babbled rush and groaned as his eyes rolled up into his head. It was nothing short of incredible. He hadn't known that half-clothed, sweaty, rushed, mutual wanking could be so satisfying.

It did not take long. After a couple of bumped knuckles, they found a mutual rhythm and pumped one another's cocks in frantic jerks. Draco's free hand dragged his shirt upwards to expose a large expanse of his pale abdomen-crossed with a faint white line that Harry vowed to apologize for later, hopefully with lips and hands-and Harry admired the flat expanse of skin even as threads of pale liquid shot from Draco's pulsing cock to decorate it.

Harry's toes curled, digging into the shoes he still wore, and a rushing sensation squeezed through his balls and then burst through his entire body, leaving him shaken. Through fluttering lids, he watched as his own release splattered over Draco's. It pooled in Draco's navel and slowly trickled down his side to drip on the sofa cushion. Harry knew he should do something about that, but he was feeling far too liquefied and sated to move. His free hand clutched the back of the sofa to hold him upright.

"I am a mess," Draco said. "And I am also _late_."

"You're not late," Harry scoffed. "It barely took us ten minutes." Harry's legs, however, were constricted to the point of pins and needles by the bunched fabric around his knees, and one of his feet was developing a cramp due to the angle it was shoved between the sofa cushions. Harry pushed away from Draco and got to his feet without taking his eyes from Draco's cock, still attractive even when softening. Despite the brilliant orgasm, Harry wanted to continue; he wanted to peel the rest of Draco's clothing away and lock his lips around that lovely cock to tease it back to rigidity.

"My face is up here, Potter," Draco said with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Harry flushed and met his eyes. "Sorry, you're just so…" Harry hoisted his trousers up awkwardly and fumbled for his wand. Draco flung out a hand.

"Wait! How good are you at Cleaning Charms? I would like to keep my skin intact!"

"Relax," Harry said and cast. If there was one thing he'd got plenty of practice with, it was that particular charm. Harry and his own right hand were _very _well acquainted. A pale glow wafted over Draco's skin and lifted away all traces of their activity before vanishing.

Draco lifted a brow as he swung his legs to the floor. "Impressive, I must admit." He tugged his shirt down and reached to fasten his trousers, but Harry stepped into his space and pulled him close, curling his fingers into the open fly of Draco's trousers. Their spent cocks pressed together as Harry kissed him.

A whooshing sound filled Harry's ears and for a moment he thought it had been caused by the kiss, but then he heard Hermione's voice.

"Harry, I- Oh, my."

The whoosh repeated and Pansy Parkinson snapped, "Bloody hell, Granger, it's customary to move away from the damned fireplace after- Well, _hello_, boys."

Harry blinked at them whilst Draco groaned and pulled more firmly at his trousers. Harry coughed and joined him in turning away from the girls to adjust his own clothing. He sneaked a glance at Draco, whose cheeks were deliciously pink.

"I was coming to- Well. I mean." Hermione's voice sounded strained and Harry nearly chuckled at her lack of verbosity. It was rare he ever saw her with a lack of coherence.

"We were going to convince you two idiots not to break up, but apparently you've worked that out on your own," Pansy said. "Amazing, considering the epic levels of hopeless lovelorn pining I've witnessed over the past couple of weeks."

"Oh shut up, Pansy," Draco said. "I will have words with you later, never fear. For now, I am late." He glanced at Harry, who gave him a once-over and decided Draco looked none the worse for their mutual experience. The only remaining sign of their activity was a lovely post-coital flush that might be mistaken for embarrassment. Harry nodded his approval and smiled.

Draco lifted his wand and then paused. He leaned towards Harry and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, much to Harry's surprise. "I will hold you to that main course later tonight," he murmured.

"I'll be here," Harry replied breathlessly.

Draco Disapparated, leaving Harry to face two smug-looking females.

"Not breaking up, then?" Hermione asked. Her cheeks were still flaming, but her smile was enormous.

"Not breaking up," Harry replied and grinned.

Pansy sighed heavily and then pouted. "But I had such a _good _plan ready."

"Diabolical, you mean," Hermione corrected.

"All of the good plans are diabolical."

Hermione shook her head and Harry wondered if they were about to get into another pointless argument. They seemed to enjoy sniping at one another. "Is there something else you wanted? Because I would quite like a shower." And he needed to prepare for Draco's later arrival. Clean sheets would be a good thing. Possibly brand new ones. Expensive ones.

Hermione looked at him and shook her head. "No, that was all. I just planned to tell you that Draco fancied you and you should stop being foolish and tell him you were in love with him."

"And I came to stop her so that my diabolical plan could be put into motion," Pansy said and then tapped a finger against her lips. "I suppose I should call Theo and tell him not to go through with it. Pity."

"I don't even want to know," Hermione said. "But yes, call him now!"

"Gryffindors are no fun at all," Pansy complained, but she turned and followed Hermione as she lifted a handful of Floo powder.

"Goodbye, Harry. And good luck," Hermione said and then disappeared into the flames.

"Yes, good luck." Pansy paused and gave Harry a pointed look. "Oh, and one more thing. If you ever hurt him I will feed your balls to Hogwarts' thestrals. Just so you know."

Harry coughed and nodded. "I… don't plan to."

She gave him one of her reptilian smiles. "Good." She stepped into the fire and was gone.

Slytherins, Harry reflected, could be bloody scary.

~~ooOoo~~

Harry was a nervous wreck by 9 p.m. He had ordered dinner out, not trusting himself to cook, but it had long since gone cold. Harry had picked at a few bites when his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since morning, and that treacle tart was not meant to sustain life.

He paced, half-convinced that Draco was at home, sitting with his feet up and laughing at what an idiot Harry had become, insinuating that they might actually try for a _relationship_. Surely he could not still be at St Mungo's at this hour? Harry had worried one thumbnail to the quick with gnawing, and still he debated Flooing to the hospital to demand Draco's whereabouts.

Instead, he turned to alphabetizing the books in the study, just to keep his hands busy. A rather substantial library had been in the house when he'd moved in, remnants of the Black legacy. Harry frowned at the leather-bound cover of "The Perfecte Primrose - Secrets of a Moste Excellente Species" and wondered why so many of the tomes started with "The." And why would anyone write an entire volume about primroses?

The Floo sounded from the other room and Harry dropped the book as his pulse shot into Seeker speed. Surely, it wouldn't be-?

"Harry?" Draco's voice sent him running, not caring how it might look.

He flung himself to his knees before the fireplace. "Draco?"

"Merlin, I'm sorry I'm late." His voice sounded ragged and beyond tired. "It has been a difficult... Well. Would you mind terribly if I cancelled tonight and went home?"

"Just come through," Harry replied, knowing he sounded desperate, but he was terrified that giving Draco time to think would lead to the conclusion that Harry was not worth the effort. "If only for a minute."

Draco closed his eyes and sighed, but after a moment he nodded and disappeared. Harry got to his feet and stepped back, only to catch Draco as he stepped from the fire.

"Easy there!" Harry said gently as he eased Draco upright. "I've got you."

"Sorry, I-" Draco stood, but did not draw away. He looked bone-weary. "I'm fine."

"You might be fine, but you're also exhausted. And how long since you ate something?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't remember, but I'm not hungry, just tired. I really need to sleep."

"All right, but you need to eat something or you'll wake up in the middle of the night with your stomach growling. Come on, I promise you won't have to move anything more strenuous than one hand, and it won't take long."

Surprisingly, Draco allowed Harry to tug him into the living room. "That's what _he _said, Potter." He emitted a soft chuckle.

Harry snorted and let Draco drop onto the sofa. He groaned and stretched out his long legs, arms falling to his sides and head lolling on the cushion. "You wait right here. I've got spring rolls under a Stasis Charm."

Harry hurried back to the kitchen and grabbed the dish, cancelling the Stasis and reheating the rolls with a quick flick of his wand.

Draco's eyes were closed when Harry returned and he thought he might be too late, but one grey eye cracked open to look at Harry when he sat down. "I should go home before I can't move."

"Eat first," Harry said sternly and dipped a spring roll into the sauce before lifting it to Draco's mouth. "Open up." Draco sighed, but obediently opened his mouth and allowed Harry to feed him. His eyes closed again and he made a sound that made Harry's mouth go dry.

"That's really good," he mumbled as he chewed.

"Probably because you're starving," Harry replied and fed him another bite. His fingers grazed Draco's lips and his heart stuttered. He was glad Draco's eyes were closed, allowing Harry a moment to look at him without reservation. Exhaustion was etched in every line of his body. His hair was an even bigger mess than it had been earlier, looking as though Draco had combed it out of his eyes several times too many. It was damp; likely he had washed his face before leaving the hospital-the smudge from earlier was gone. His face was beautiful and Harry admired it unabashedly.

Draco's brows were almost as pale as his hair, fading to near-invisibility as they curved round the edge of his brow. His lashes were darker, easily seen with Draco's eyes closed. They were long and thick, hiding eyes that Harry knew were the colour of a stormy sky, and just as changeable. His nose was straight and slender and his lips… Draco's tongue flicked out to catch a bit of sauce on his upper lip and Harry swallowed hard. Draco's jaw worked as he chewed and Harry remembered the taste and feel of it. He wanted to nuzzle his cheek there and trail his lips over Draco's exposed throat. He wanted… He wanted so much more than he ever would have expected from Draco and the knowledge ached within him, transcending mere lust.

_Tell him you're in love with him_, Hermione had said. Only now did Harry allow the truth of it to take root.

With a start, he realized Draco's eyes were open and watching him. Harry focussed on the plate and picked up another spring roll to cover the sudden flush of his cheeks.

"I am useless to you tonight," Draco said.

"I don't mind," Harry replied and dipped the roll into the sauce. "I'm just glad you're here." He lifted the food to Draco's lips and watched as he accepted it and chewed slowly. It was curiously intimate, feeding someone.

"Now that I have stopped moving, I am not certain I can start again," Draco said once he had swallowed.

"Then don't," Harry said. "I've fallen asleep on this sofa many times. It's very comfortable. I'll get you a blanket or two."

Draco sighed and opened his mouth for the last bit of spring roll. "I could sleep on a stone floor at this point, so I believe I will take you up on that. Thank you."

Harry conjured a napkin and dabbed at Draco's lips, resisting the urge to lick them clean, and then knelt to remove Draco's shoes and socks. Draco groaned. "You don't have to do that."

"You can't even feed yourself," Harry replied with a chuckle. "Are you comfortable enough in your clothes or do you want me to take those off, as well?" He asked the latter with an exaggerated leer and Draco huffed.

"I told you I was useless, Potter. Undressing me will only depress me with my lack of ability to uphold my promise."

"I'll accept a rain check," Harry said and wrapped a hand around Draco's ankle. He squeezed and then slipped his hand up into Draco's trouser leg to caress his calf. Draco sighed, and it was a pleased but tired sound. Harry smiled and moved back, drawing his hand back down to Draco's ankle and then lifting his feet up onto the couch. He arranged the pillows beneath Draco's head and helped him shift into a more comfortable position.

"Be right back," he said. By the time he returned with a thick blanket, Draco's breathing was deep and even; he was sound asleep. Harry smiled and arranged the fabric over him, tucking it in gently and then smoothing the fine hair over Draco's brow. He pressed an impulsive kiss to his temple. "Goodnight, Draco."

Harry put out the lights and went to bed, content that although the evening had not gone as planned, it had still been rather satisfying.

ooOooOoo

Harry was having the most delicious dream. Lips teased just behind his ear and a solid, warm body was pressed against his back, spooning around him like a protective cocoon. Soft fingers drew circles upon his chest and hot breath tickled his skin in between the kisses. Something wonderfully hard jutted against his buttocks, drawing an answering response from Harry's loins as his cock awoke and thickened. He moaned and rocked his hips, wanting that hardness.

"Mmmm," someone murmured. "I thought you'd never wake up."

Harry sighed around a smile. "Draco," he said drowsily and sank more deeply into dream-induced contentment. He had no intention of waking from such a lovely reverie.

Draco's lips moved down Harry's neck to the bend where it met his shoulder. At the same time, his hand travelled from Harry's chest downwards, crossing ribs and navel, and hopefully seeking the place where Harry most desperately wanted to feel any part of Draco.

"Got it in one, luckily for you," Draco said. His fingers teased the hair of Harry's happy trail, so close, but still too far from Harry stiff cock. "Calling me by someone else's name would be a very bad move at this juncture."

Harry's eyes flew open as the recollection that the _real _Draco Malfoy was sleeping on his couch downstairs. He would have bounced from the bed if the arm around him hadn't held him in place. Harry's intake of breath was probably comical.

"Draco?" he asked.

"I thought we'd established that. Going somewhere?"

Harry relaxed. "Um, no, I thought I was dreaming." He reached out a hand to pinch Draco's arm.

"Hey!"

Harry laughed. "Just making sure you're real."

"You're supposed to pinch yourself, idiot."

"Well, I already know I'm real. I'm just… You're here." Harry moved a hand to indicate his bed, and then blushed when the implication sank in.

"I was under the impression you wanted me here." To Harry's horror, Draco's face began to close up, that wonderful, carefree, teasing expression fading into familiar, more guarded lines.

Harry's hand clamped onto Draco's arm. "Don't you dare move! I'll use magical bindings to keep you here, if I must."

A smile curved Draco's lips and he visibly relaxed. "Kinky. That's unexpected."

"Is it?" Harry asked on a breath full of relief. "Well, then, you'll have to stick around and see what else I can surprise you with."

"I look forward to it." Draco leaned in and Harry closed his eyes, preparing for a kiss. He yelped when Draco shoved him halfway across the bed. He stared at him in confusion. "Now, go shower so that we can get on with things. I bathed earlier whilst you were being a slug-a-bed."

"You're kicking me out of my own bed?" Harry asked, disgruntled, as Draco settled into his pillows, looking as though he might go back to sleep.

"The sooner you are nice and clean, the sooner you may have this," Draco replied and pulled back the top blanket to reveal that he wore nothing but a very interesting pair of black pants. Harry gaped at the pants for a moment, and then at all the creamy skin revealed.

"Be back in a Seeker's second," Harry said and flung himself towards the bathroom. A faster shower might never have been had in Britain-although he was careful to pay particular attention to certain areas. Once finished, Harry slung a towel around his hips and hurried back to the bedroom. To his relief, Draco was still awake, to all appearances leafing through a reference book Harry had been slowly plodding through for several weeks. Draco tossed it aside and smiled. In response, Harry's cock, which had been at half-staff during his shower, sprang to full attention. The towel tented and Harry flushed.

Draco held out a hand and Harry's embarrassment faded as he walked forwards and let the towel drop. The slow, almost physical caress of Draco's stare brought even more heat to the surface of Harry's skin, but there was no mortification in it this time.

"Come here," Draco said roughly and pushed the sheets aside with a swift movement.

Harry joined him, climbing into the bed and falling on Draco like a starved beast. The emotions he'd held in check for weeks threatened to spill over. He kissed Draco to keep himself from speaking. Draco's arms wrapped round him and held him tightly; his fingers stroked gentle circles into Harry's skin.

Harry kissed for all he was worth, licking into the warmth of Draco's mouth and seeking out places that made the breath hitch in his chest, pressed tightly enough to Harry's that he could feel every movement. So enraptured was he that it took him completely by surprise when Draco rolled him over and pinned him to the bed, trapping Harry's arms over his head with one hand.

"Easy, there," Draco said with a chuckle. "We do, in fact, have several hours and I, for one, plan to use them wisely. And slowly. Keep your hands right there and don't move them until I tell you to, all right?"

Harry swallowed, more at the intense look in Draco's eyes than from his words, and he nodded, unable to speak through his suddenly-dry throat. Amazingly, his cock hardened even more. He hadn't known that being dominated would be a turn-on, but it most assuredly was.

Draco released his hands and Harry obediently kept them there. He felt very exposed as Draco moved away from him to sweep a look over the length of Harry's body, as if he had been laid out like a buffet for Draco's pleasure.

"Salazar," Draco said as he lifted a hand and trailed his fingers over Harry's skin, drawing a gooseflesh-inducing trail from Harry's collarbone down, down, down to his navel, "do you know how long I've wanted…?"

"It can't…" Harry gasped and quivered beneath the touch and fluid began to leak from his rock-hard cock, "It can't be as long as I have."

"Oh really?" Draco asked. His fingers kept moving, drawing close to Harry's cock without even brushing it, and pausing to comb through the tendrils of Harry's pubic hair, teasing the soft , sensitive area of Harry's groin.

"Yes. God, yes," Harry said and arched his back, desperate for a more solid touch.

"Spread your legs," Draco murmured. Harry did so, obeying with an alacrity that might have alarmed him if he hadn't been so eager for anything that Draco planned to do to him.

"Good," Draco said approvingly and then skated his fingers gently over Harry's balls. A guttural cry tore from Harry's throat and his breath caught in his chest on the intake. The touch was still feather-light, drawing downwards to slide over Harry's perineum before moving back over his testicles again. Harry thought he might go mad from the torment and had to clamp his teeth together to keep from begging for more.

Draco moved closer and bent his head to capture one of Harry's nipples, teasing it with his tongue-and then his teeth-as his hand squeezed and stroked at Harry's balls. It was the most delicious torment Harry had ever experienced. Draco kept it up for a maddeningly long time, alternating between nipples until Harry was a writhing mass of need. His cock throbbed with every stroke and Harry struggled not to come.

"Do you like this, Harry?" Draco asked.

"Yes, yes, god yes," Harry babbled.

"Would you like more?"

"Yes," Harry hissed, wondering how Draco could sound so calm when Harry was almost completely undone.

"What would you like?"

Harry flushed, but he was not above begging at this point and Draco had to know it. "Touch me. Touch my cock, please."

"Like this?" Draco asked and his fingers brushed the length of Harry's cock.

"More," Harry choked out desperately. "More, more, _more_."

Draco's fingers wrapped around it and Harry nearly sobbed at the sensation. Draco stroked once, twice… and stopped.

"Perhaps I should taste it?" Draco asked.

Harry could only whimper and nod. "Anything. Anything," he gasped.

"Don't come," Draco warned and then hot, wet, brilliant heat enveloped Harry's cock. His world narrowed to a black spot and he bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. His fingers clawed at the headboard as he fought to keep from coming. His breathing was a ragged sound, harsh and loud in the quiet room.

Draco's tongue danced over his cock, licking and teasing until Harry was reduced to begging sobs.

Draco's evil mouth released him. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he asked in the same calm tone.

"Yes," Harry replied, knowing that if Draco had offered to _Crucio _him the response would have been the same. Thank Merlin Voldemort had not known about Draco's powers of persuasion during the war or all might have been lost.

Draco moved between Harry's spread legs and murmured a spell. Something warm and slick touched Harry's sensitised skin and Draco's finger circled his pucker for the first time, sending a new quiver of anticipation through Harry. It pressed inside, not stopping until it was buried.

_Don't come_, Harry reminded himself desperately, _Don't come_.

"You're so ready for me." Draco's voice sounded surprised.

"Funny how that happens when you wank three times a day, with several fingers pushed up there wishing they were yours," Harry replied.

Draco groaned and it was a delicious sound. "Several?" he asked and added a second finger.

"As many as I could fit," Harry said.

"Salazar." Draco's voice was a whisper and his fingers pulled out.

Harry whimpered, but only for a moment. Draco rose and manoeuvred his thighs beneath Harry's, lifting his leg and bending his knees. One hand gripped into Harry's hip and the other guided Draco's cock into place. Harry had not even seen Draco remove the black pants.

Harry's abdominals clenched as he lifted himself upwards, wanting to see-he felt slightly cheated at being denied a view of Draco's cock during the proceedings, but Draco said, "Hands."

Harry swallowed and reclined again, giving up to sensation rather than worrying about the visuals. It was enough that he could see Draco, face gorgeously intense, blond hair hanging over his forehead, lips red and glistening from his attention to Harry's cock. Harry kept his eyes open even as Draco pushed into him, slowly and completely.

"All right there, Harry?" Draco murmured. His fingers-both hands were on Harry's hips now-stroked lightly, as if soothing any hurts he might have inadvertently caused. _Healer Malfoy_, Harry thought, and wondered how many of Draco's patients had fallen utterly in love with him. Many, most likely. And yet here he was, with Harry.

"Brilliant," Harry said and smiled.

Draco's answering smile was radiant, but it almost immediately disappeared when Draco began to move. Harry's eyes fluttered closed and he surrendered to sensation, rocking into each thrust and trying to keep his hands from reaching up and touching Draco's smooth skin. He wondered what it would be like to try it with his hands bound. The resulting rush of heat made him even more breathless and he opened his eyes again to admire Draco.

"You feel so…" Draco seemed unable to finish the thought and leaned down to kiss Harry, moving more slowly as Harry lost himself in the kiss. He realized that perhaps Hermione had been correct in her assessment.

"Sweaty?" Harry supplied against Draco's lips and was rewarded with a warm chuckle.

"That, too. Am I working you too hard?"

"Not hard enough, I think," Harry replied and pushed his hips upwards, earning a gasp from Draco.

"Oh, you've asked for it now, Potter," Draco warned and his grip on Harry's hips tightened deliciously. He drove into Harry then, moving at a frantic pace and sending Harry's senses spiralling as his cock banged against his abdomen, each slap bringing him closer to the edge. His fists clenched, desperate to reach down and bring himself off.

Harry's half-lidded eyes snapped open when the silver bracelet on Draco's wrist glowed.

"Oh, god, not now," Harry said desperately. He was close, so very close it would only take-

Draco wrapped a hand around his cock and then Harry was coming explosively, bucking on the bed from the force of it and shouting hoarsely. Draco kept moving, prolonging Harry's orgasm until he could only lie still and watch in a sated haze as Draco rode to his own peak. Draco was quiet when he came, huffing breathlessly and arching his back. He was gorgeous.

Draco fell over Harry's chest, not seeming to mind the mess, and Harry reached down and carded his fingers through Draco's damp hair.

"Do you have to leave?" Harry asked.

"Hmmm?" Draco's response was sleepy and gave Harry a silly rush of sentimental emotion.

"Your bracelet. It glowed."

"Oh, that. It's not an emergency. I asked Helen to give me a status report on one of my patients. One pulse means all is well." Draco's voice rumbled against Harry's chest.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't ready for Draco to leave. "Good." He closed his eyes and nearly drifted off to sleep. He felt sticky and knew he should rise and shower, but he was far too comfortable to move. A stray thought caused him to open his eyes.

"Draco?"

A sleepy rumble acknowledged his query.

"I have a confession to make."

"You're not gay?"

A startled laugh escaped Harry. "No. That's definitely not it. Thank you for proving my preference for cock, by the way."

"It was my pleasure."

"I just wanted you to know that I never cared about the publicity. I just… wanted to see you again after our first meeting in the pub."

Draco's head rose and he met Harry's eyes with a smirk. "Why, you crafty crup."

"I won't deny it was easier, coming out, with someone to weather it with me. So thanks for that, too."

"I will forgive your deception, since you were apparently smitten with me."

"Yeah, I was. Am." Harry grinned.

"Bloody sap," Draco said and kissed him.

He had settled back against Harry and appeared to be dozing once more when another thought occurred to Harry. "Draco?"

A hefty sigh met his words.

"Remember when you first agreed to go out with me and you told me there would be a price to pay? What was it? Your price, I mean?"

Draco was silent for a moment and then his arm tightened around Harry's waist.

"This," he admitted finally. "This, Harry."

_I'm not the only sap_, Harry thought to himself, but he dared not utter the words around his enormous smile. Instead, he stroked Draco's hair, pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, and let them both drift back to sleep.

~END~


End file.
